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PRIVATE LEARNERS. 



BY SAMUEL KIRKHAM, 

Author of " English Grammar in Familiar Lectures. 



The manner of speaking is as important as the matter.— Chesterfiel* 



FOURTH EDITION, ENLARGED AND IMPROVED. 



STEREOTYPED BY P. F. RIPLEY. 



NEW YORK: 

FARMER, BRACE & COMPANY, 
NO. 4 CORTLANDT STREET. 

1856. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by. SPtuel TIlrkMI, in tho 



ing\oAct of Congress, in tftj 
iceof-the District Cour^oftt 




^« 



The,./!^ ofwie following notices* is fronrweT^n of^rJ. R. Sm^th, A.^I . jjne. of tie 
greatest ^aster\of *51o»utft>n ncuv liuing : the secpnd'is frormMKKENt, an able pro- 
fessor in the Uiuver^ty^f^ppetoilua. \ % \ J|^ "\ V 1 

3VLr' 5 Samu.eI Kirkhaiw^if Baltimore, kndVn to many orour citizen3%s the author of 
a popular Ertol^lr>*rBaib3fe)ar, haSvpublished " An Essay on Elocution, designed for the 
usj^o ft, gfeJioolg»and j)n,vate lea\ner6."» After a careful perusal of this work, 1 am de- 
cfuedly of opinlSa, - - that jjis the o'hly^^s^u^fc'tftm}*: of^ieVind. .|Th e £ules are 
copious, and the author's explanations »d illustrations ^We^ti&ppilywtajwkl to the 
comprehension of learners. No school sfculd be without this book, and it ought to 
find a place in the library of every gentleman who values the attainment of a just 
and forcible elocution. ' Pittsburg Mgprttry, April, IS, 1834. 

The Essay now before us, needs not depend on any former work of itsjuithor for a 
borrowed reputation : it has intrinsick merits of its own. It lays down principles 
clearly and concisely. It presents the reader with many new and judicious selections 
both in prose and poetry ; and altogether evinces great industry, combined with taste 
and ingenuity. Courier of Upper Canada, York, Oct. 12, 1833. 

Of the talent and judgment of Mr. Kirkham, we have already had occasion to speak 
in terms of honest, praise. His work on Elocution raises him still higher in our esti 
mation, for we find it (and we have perused it attentively, and with the utmost pleasure) 
one highly calculated to mend the manners, and correct the taste, of a certain barbar- 
ous class of readers and declaimcrs that, at present, infest almost every rank in so- 
ciety. Besides this, the book would be of great utility in schools — such a one as has 
long been wanted; and we are glad to see it forthcoming. In his selections, tin 
author has displayed his usual tact and ability. It abounds in beautiful extracts, and 
judicious illustrations and remarks. Baltimore Visiter, July, 1833. 

We think Mr. Kirkham's Elocution worthy of publick patronage, and, have no doubt 
that, were it introduced into our academies, it would be found a most valuable book, 
both to the teacher and pupil. The familiar and forcible style of Mr. Kirk bain, so 
justly admired in his work on Grammar, is fully preserved in his work before us. 

Eastern Shore Whig, March 18, 1834. 

Mr. Kirkham has performed a very acceptable service to teachers, by presenting 
them with this "Essay." The selections are remarkably judicious ; the arrangement, 
good; the rules, simple and perspicuous. National Intelligencer, July 7, 1834. 

No part of education, equally important, is so generally neglected as Elocurion; 
and this neglect arises principally from the want of some suitable book on the subject. 
In my opinion, Mr. Kirkham's Essay is a work every way calculated to supply this 
want, and is far better adapted to the use of schools and private learners, than any 
other system with which I am acquainted. S. CAVERNO 

Lewistown Academy, JSf. Y. Oct. 7, 1833. 

Mr. B. F. Winchester :— Sir, I have examined the " Essay on Elocution" by Samuel 
Kirkham.— It clearly explains and illustrates the principles of the science, and, wilh 
diligence on the part of the student, cannot fail to answer the end designed. I cuuld 
wish that the last chapter of part first, might be read by every clergyman in the 
world. . Respectfully, vours, (Rev.) S.G. WINCHESTER. 

Philadelphia, July 22, 1834. 

Mr. Kirkhim: Dear Sir, In the course of thirty years' experience in teaching Eng- 
li: h Grammar and Reading in this city, no event of the kind has so highly gratified me, 
as the opportunity you have afforded me of examining your English Grammar and 
treatise on Elocution. I most heartily acknowledge, that, upon a careful and thorough 
perusal of them, I find that every facility which I have so often needed, but never 
oefore found, is exactly furnished ;— principles are clearly and concisely laid <luwn, 
and very happih/ adapted to the comprehension of the learner. Thoroughly con' 
irinced of their utility, I shall lose no time in introducing them both into my school. 
J ' NATHANIEL WEBB 

Hartford, Conn. Aug. 20. 1834. 

In Exchange 

Jtafee University 
JUL 1 2 1933 



A*;. 






PREFACE 



A preface is to the reader, what a fence is to a horse, when it ob- 
structs his progress to a field of sprouting herbage, which he consider? 
himself justifiable to enter by leaping over the barrier. The reader 
wades through a long preface with as much reluctance, as he would 
pass through the ordeal of a ceremonious introduction to a large assem- 
blage of guests, when'invited to dine with a stranger. This repugnance 
to preface-reading, doubtless, arises.outof the fact, that prefaces are gen- 
erally dull, and often but the prelude to a still duller book. 

To the author, a preface is considered as privileged ground. Upon 
this arena, he deems himself at liberty to act without restraint— to tyr- 
annise over the time and patience of his reader, by giving a loose rein 
to his fancy, and by pursuing a course as wayward and foreign to the 
subject before him as either his pedantry or his vanity may dictate. In 
the after pages of his work, he considers himself under obligation occa- 
sionally to cast a sidelong glance at the subject he is professing to dis- 
cuss, and to pay some little respect to the laws of unity, and to a system- 
atick arrangement of his thoughts. We cannot, therefore, but admire 
this bountiful provision secured to him by the power of custom, by which 
provision he is allowed, after having toiled through the tedious task of 
manufacturing a ponderous volume, here to throw off the shackles, and 
revel over this licensed corner of his field, and become as familiar, and 
egotistical, and inane, as his conscience and common sense will permit. 
But it might be well for some writers (myself included, undoubtedly) 
to consider that custom is a fickle dame, and that reason is not always 
found in alliance with her. 

On this subject, however, custom has not been so parsimonious as to 
confine her liberality exclusively to the author. If she has granted him 
the privilege of being dull and prolix in his preface, she has as 
obligingly favoured the reader with the privilege of escaping from his 
prefatory dulness and prolixity, by skipping over them, and by com- 
mencing at the proper beginning of his book. And now, with becoming 
candour, 1 announce to my very gentle reader, that if he begins to grow 
weary of my own prosing, I shall not deem it unkind or uncourteous in 
him, should he avail himself of his privilege by breaking off at the close 
of this sentence, and by turning over to the pages which follow this my 
prelusive disemboguement ; for, on the score of prolixity, I do hi .tc t 
myself bound, under cover of my privilege, to show him any mercy, 
have on hand a bundle of disorderly and incoherent ideas, which are 
quite clamorous to be released from bondage ; and being very conscien- 
tious, and compassionate withal, I seldom have the hardihood to turn a 
deaf ear to the cries of the distressed. It is, therefore, altogether for the 
purpose of fulfilling a moral duty, that I give these fugitives their free- 
dom, and allot them a place in this, the most suitable, part of my work. 

Prefaces generally open with a stupid apology for the sin of boring the 
public k with another book. But a book should be its own and its only 
apologist. If it is well written, and its subject is important, it needs no 
apology; but if the reverse — if its manufacturer has arrogated to him- 
self the dignity and responsibility of authorship, without considering 



4 PREFACE. 

% 

whether he is able to manage his subject in a more masterly manner 
than his predecessors'have done, or even if he has deceived himself in 
his estimate of his own abilities, an apology, so far from shielding him 
from rebuke for his daring perpetrations with pen and ink, will hut seive 
as so much dead weight to sink still lower his drowning cause. 

An apology is generally deemed a mark of modesty in an author ; but 
whether he render in this token of diffidence as an atonement for the 
transgression of thrusting himself between his predecessors and the pub- 
lick, or -whether he boldly assert his superiority over them, is of little 
moment ; for, by the very act of writing and publishing, he assumes such 
superiority. 

Of all the "labours done under the sun," the labour's of the pen meet 
with the poorest reward. Even in this age of much light and more 
reading, an author is often compelled to live on short allowance, and 
trudge on foot, whilst his more fortunate bookseller revels in luxury 
and rolls along in his coach. An ignorant fellow may, easily grow rich 
by selling almanacks, tape, toys, turnips, and teakettles, where a talented 
author would starve. 

Writers of dull books, however, if patronised at all, are rewarded be 
yond their deserts. We are under no obligation to sympathize with 
those authors who have " passed their nights without sleep, in order te 
procure it for their readers." The cumbrous labours of such men prove 
unavailing, from an apparently trifling difference of opinion between 
them and the world which they attempt to enlighten. With an honest 
zeal they maintain, that their productions are brilliant, but the world 
perversely denounces them as execrable : and thus, merely by being 
outvoted, their ponderous tomes soon lumber down into the tomb of for- 
getful n ess. As in raising grain, the quantity of sound wheat is dimin 
ished -by a rank growth of the straw, so, in the production of books 
the amount of solid information they contain, seems to decrease in pro 
portion to the fecundity of the crop. 

By reflecting upon the pains and penalties of book-making, and tin 
deplorable fate which awaits the vast majority of those who join the 
craft, one might naturally conclude, that the experiment of authorship 
has become so hazardous as to deter fresh adventurers from entering 
the field ; but such a conclusion is so far from being justified by facts, 
that it would seem as if the number of authors were increased in i 
ratio corresponding with the increase of the difficulties and danger> 
which beset their path. Indeed, in modern times, authorship has be 
come a mania, or, perhaps I should say, an epidemick, which appears t< 
be infectious, and which threatens to inundate our land, and leave it en 
cumbered with sand and rubbish. 

To the no small annoyance of the community, this alarming malad) 
has particularly affected the honourable fraternity of teachers; and 
thereby plunged many a thriving family into deep — mystification and 
doubt. When one of them happens to blunder on to the track of a 
straggling idea that he deems unique, or to get hold of a foolish conceit, 
or a new-fangled notion, every intellectual current in his cranium runs 
riot, and gives him no rest, until he has it written out and— printed. 
Hence, the onerous amount of maudlin abortions in the shape of school- 
books which is- annually disgorged from the press. Without once taking 
into consideration the enormous difference between carping at the defi- 
ciencies, and condemning the faults, of others, and that of avoiding 
faults and supplying deficiencies, and, losing sight, also, of the important 

uism, that knowledge derived from experience, in order to subserve 



PREFACE. 5 

any useful purpose either in authorship, or in its application to business, 
must be drawn from successful experience, many of these book-mongers 
seem to take it for granted, that, to be able to raise plausible objections 
to the books that have fallen in their way, and to profess experience in 
teaching a particular science, constitute the grand climacterick of all that 
is requisite in order to form a successful writer upon that science. But 
it is not the man who has merely taught, or who has taught long, or who 
is able to point out defects in authors, that is capable of enlightening the 
world in the respective sciences which have engaged his attention ; but 
the man who has taught wdl. It is the man of genius and enterprise, 
he who has brought to the task of his calling uncommon powers of dis- 
crimination and a sound judgment, and whose ambition has led him, 
not to rest satisfied with following the tedious routine of his predeces- 
sors, but to strike out a new and a better track, or, at least, to render 
smoother and brighter the path long trodden. It is to such men, and 
such only, that we are indebted for all our great improvements in the 
cons! ruction of elementary works for schools and private learners. 

Book-makers are too often like office-seekers, who first procure the 
place, and tnen oethink themselves of the qualifications necessary to the 
discharge of its duties. They too frequently set down merely to make a 
book, without considering, either the importance of the undertaking, or 
whether they possess the qualifications requisite for its successful ac- 
complishment. But the course pursued by such writers, is as evidently 
inverted as that which would induce one to read a discourse backwards, 
or to commence a speech with the peroration, and close it with the ex- 
ordium, or to attempt to discover the sources of the Nile, by strolling 
down the banks of the Scamander. There is not, perhaps, a more preva- 
lent and mischievous errour than that which supposes the writers of bad 
books to be an innocent set of beings, who do little or no harm, unless, 
indeed, it is that which imagines that the authors of good books, are gen- 
erally rewarded according to their merit. Bad books are like bad 
medicines, which, when they do no good, are sure to produce ill effects. 
If bad books were entirely neutral, they would, of course, have no evil 
tendency ; but the misfortune is, they are much read, and lead- their un- 
fortunate votaries into errour. One who is pursuing the path of errour, is 
certainly farther from truth than he was before he set out, for it leads 
directly from her temple ; and before he can enter this temple, he has 
to retrace his steps. 

But does not the publick always discriminate between merit and de- 
merit, and distribute its rewards accordingly 1 Far from it. The publick 
is, indeed, a potent umpire, and one that opens a liberal purse to itsya- 
vouriies ; but to its greatest benefactors, it generally proves a heartless 
tyrant, by taking care, that they shall first be duly starved to death, and 
then handed over to posterity for their rewards, which come in the 
shape of monuments, reared to perpetuate their memories. 

The truth is, the general mass are not proper judges of books. Hence, 
their liability to be deceived. How often are they robbed of their time, 
by poring over pages of trifling, inane, and uninstructive matter — to the 
perversion of their taste, and the debasement of their minds — when this 
mispent time, were it devoted to the perusal of works filled with sound 
sense and solid instruction, would afford them an intellectual banquet 
from which they might arise with minds refreshed and richly stored 
with that wisdom which adorns and dignifies human nature, elevates 
man to his proper rank in the scale of being, and qualifies him to fulfil, 
with honour and usefulness, his various offices in life. 
I* 



D PREFACE. 

But school-books, more especially, as they fall into the hands of chil- 
dren and youth — of such as peculiarly need lights to guide them, and 
encouragements to excite them, when defective or erroneous, are more 
pernicious than any others ; for they prove either false guides, which 
lead their readers astray, or no guides, which leave them in darkness. 
Hence, such books are worse than no books. What, then, is to be 
done, in order to avert the evil influence of bad books — an evil which 
has been' rapidly increasing ever since Cadmus had the kindness to in- 
vent letters 1 — If this evil cannot be remedied, surely it may be easily 
retarded in its progress. Let parents, and guardians, and publick func- 
tionaries, at once set themselves at work to elevate the profession of 
school-keeping to the rank and dignity of the other, less important, learned 
professions, by increasing the salaries of instructers, so much as to enlist 
in this noble cabling, none but men of genuine talents and truly liberal 
acquirements, and, not only will bad books soon hide their diminished 
heads, but the youth of our country will receive twice as good an edu- 
cation as they now do, at a less expense, because, in a. far shorter lime. 

When we reflect upon the mighty influence which early impressions 
have over the minds and conduct of men, the importance of putting good 
books into the hands of the young, as well as, of giving them proper, 
oral instructions, presents itself with increased magnitude. Errours im- 
bibed in early life, are seldom rooted out in riper years. As a mere 
pebble may turn the course of a stream at the fountain-head, so, a vir- 
tuous hint, or a poisonous errour, instilled into the mind of a youth, may 
not only influence his career through this life, by directing him into the 
path of honour and usefulness, or by leading him into the road of infamy 
and disgrace, but its influence may extend to his well or ill being through 
the endless ages of eternity. 

It may be justly said, that teachers and authors, in no small degree, 
preside over the destinies of a free people. According to the bias which 
they give to the minds of those who receive instructions from them, 
they either exalt or lower the dignity of a nation. How high a meed 
of praise, then, does he merit, whose labours are successful in improving 
our systems of learning in such a manner as to give a new impetus to 
the intellectual energies of the rising generation ! The seeds of knowl- 
edge which he sows, will be continually springing up in a more and 
more genial soil, as generation succeeds generation, and will produce 
more and more abundantly those luxu riant germes of liberty and science 
which adorn, and beautify, and polish, and exalt a free people. The 
benefits of his labours will shine forth with increasing lustre through 
those brilliant geniuses who will hereafter arise and pour fresh floods 
of light into the moral world — streams that will blaze along the track 
of time, bearing light and glory down to the remotest posterity. 

When we take into consideration the vast and growing resources of 
our country, and associate them with the intellectual advancement she 
has already made, it may not be altogether forlorn to hope, nor chimer- 
ical to suppose, that the day is not remote in which the attention of our 
statesmen and publick functionaries generally, will be more singly direct- 
ed to the all-important object of raising our literary character to a far 
loftier height than has hitherto been attained by any nation. In such a 
day of prosperity as this, when it has become a moot point of national 
legislation how to dispose of surplus revenue — when the highest honours 
and rewards await the man of genius and scientifick enterprise, what 
but the want of enlightened views and liberal measures can prevent lit- 
erary, and scientifick, and political, and religious knowledge, from soon 



PREFACE. 7 

llDwing through our land in channels broad and deep — knowledge, pure 
as the mountain rill, abundant as the waters of the ocean 1 What but 
the want of such views and such measures, can prevent this republick 
from soon raising a literary, as well as a political, standard, that shall 
wave as a proud beacon to all the nations of the earth 1 I must confess 
my unwillingness to abandon the hope, that to us such a day of national 
prosperity and literary pre-eminence is rapidly rolling on — aday in which 
our statesmen will become far more enlightened and liberalized; when 
talented authors will be more substantially encouraged; the profession of 
teaching, elevated ; and bad books, discarded ; when our national dig- 
nity, rising in its literary greatness, will shed an undying halo of glory 
around our political horizon ; when our publick institutions will extend 
their civilizing, and humanizing, and christianizing influence over 
every island, sea, and mountain, and penetrate the remotest corners of 
the earth — a day in which Europe, Asia, and Africa, will thankfully 
look up to her for light and direction, and be proud to imitate her noble 
example — an era of literary redemption, and the advent of science, in 
which national prejudices will be overthrown, national animosities, 
trampled down, national restrictions, rescinded, and the sons of science 
rise up in every republick, and kingdom, and country, and hold commun- 
ion at the fountain of Apollo — in short, a literary millennium, in which 
the Alps will salute the Alleganies, the Himalayas will make obeisance 
to the Andes, the Niger, the Volga, the Ganges, and the Nile, will 
claim kindred with the Columbia, the Mississippi, and the Colorado, 
and the waters of the Caspian and of the Superiour, will rise up and em- 
brace each other. 

Courteous reader, lest, by this time, you may think me inclined to be 
garrulous, if not flighty, upon topicks quite foreign to the subject before 
me, I will now put a bridle upon my wayward thoughts, and lead them 
directly into the channel marked out for preface-makers by the good old 
rules of criticism. Possibly the following pages will justify the conclu- 
sion, that the author of them does not possess the qualifications which 
he has prescribed as indispensable to the successful writer ; and that, 
whilst he deals out his censures to others with an unsparing hand, he is 
himself guilty of greater faults than those he condemns. Every one knows 
how much easier it is to point out faults, than to produce original ex- 
cellences. But whatever may be the defects of the work now merging 
into being, as author and compiler of it, I have one strong consolation, 
which is, that its utility will not depend alone on the efforts of my own 
talents. If the pages penned by myself, present little that is new and use- 
ful, a redeeming virtue may be claimed, by presenting in those which 
follow, much that has been long tried in the crucible of criticism, and 
which, like pure gold, has been found always to grow brighter by the 
process of refining. 

It may not be altogether inappropriate, in passing, for me to explain 
(he grounds on which is based the presumption of my coming forward 
to enrol my humble name upon the list of authors on Elocution. It is 
well known, that, but a few years ago, the tide of grammatical science, 
as it pertains to the English language, was at a verv low ebb in our- 
country, as well as in Great Britain. What the efforts of a few in- 
dividuals have since done to swell this tide, and conduct it into the 
humblest walks of life, is equally known. Among those who have suc- 
cessfully laboured in the philological field, Mr. Lindley Murray stands 
forth in bold relief, undeniably at the head of the list. That the writer's 
own labours in the same field, have also contributed, in some degree, to 



8 PREFACE. 

effect that great revolution which has recently taken place with regard 
to the cultivation of grammatical science, and which so highly redounds 
to the honour and glory of the age in which we live, he is proud to be- 
lieve. Since the days of Lowth, no other work on grammar, Mur- 
ray's excepted, has been so favourably received by the publick as his 
own. 

As one proof of this he would mention, that within the last six years } 
it has passed through Jifly editions* By its unfolding, and explaining, 
and applying the principles of grammar, it has brought this hitherto 
abstruse science within the reach of the humblest capacity, and thereby 
encouraged thousands, and tens of thousands, to acquire a knowledge 
of this important branch of learning, Avho, otherwise, would have passed 
it by with neglect. 

In the interiour of Pennsylvania and the State of New York, in the 
Western States, in the lower regions of the Mississippi valley, and in 
many other sections of our country into which the author's work has 
penetrated, and become the general text-book in grammar, the number 
Df those who are now successfully cultivating a knowledge of this 
science, is nearly or quite twice as great as it was before his treatise 
was introduced; and in many neighbourhoods, it has more than quadru- 
pled. This flattering success, then, of his first essay in authorship, has 
encouraged hiin to adventure upon another branch of science which, 
for some years past, has particularly engaged his attention. That he is 
capable of doing ample justice to his present subject, he has not the 
vanity to imagine; but if his knowledge drawn from observation, and 
experience in teaching elocution, enable him so to treat the science as 
to call the attention of some to its cultivation, and induce others more 
capable than himself to write upon it, he will thereby contribute his 
mite towards rescuing from neglect a branch of learning which, in its 
important bearings upon the prosperity of the free citizens of this great 
republiek, stands second to none : and thus, in the consciousness of having 
rendered a new service to his country, he will secure the reward of his 
highest ambition. Should this first edition be at all greeted by the 
friendsof science, he will endeavour to improve his work, and ultimately 
send it forth with less imperfections resting upon its head. 

Some may think, that, in a [ew instances, the author has taken an 
undue liberty with the style of the writers whose labours he has appro- 
priated. But when it is considered, that this work is designed chiefly 
to be read in schools, where grammatical improprieties would be ex- 
tremely injurious to the germinating taste of the young reader, it will 
doubtless be conceded, that the sacrilege of disturbing the monuments 
of the dead — the profanation of removing a little of the rust and rubbish 
which adhere to the precious gems of an antiquated, or even of a modern, 
author, is, on the whole, a lighter transgression than either to neglect to 
furnish the rich banquet, or to get it up in a slovenly manner. 

The scientiflck portion of this manual, is far more defective than it 
would have been, had not the author, since making arrangements fot 
publishingit,beenprevented,by unfavourable, unforeseen, and uncontrol- 
lable circumstances, from devoting- half that time and attention to its 
composition and arrangement, which even a tolerable degree of excel- 
lence in execution, required. His highest aim has been to treat the 
subject briefly and practically; and thereby to render his work useful 
to such as have but little leisure to devote to this science. 

*It has now (1835) passed through over one hundred and twenty editions. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD EDITION. \> 

In the selected part, he has endeavoured to present such pieces as are 
calculated to cultivate the taste, enlighten the understanding, improve 
the judgment, and establish the morals of the young, and, at the same 
time, to inspire them with a fondness for reading, and a desire to excel 
in the science of elocution. 

In conclusion, it affords the author no small degree of pleasure to ac- 
knowledge the obligation he is under to Dr. James Rush, who, with a 
liberality peculiar to superiour minds, and a courtesy exercised only by 
accomplished men, tendered to the author, in the compilation and ar- 
rangement of his work, such a use of his own, admirable treatise on the 
" Philosophy of the Human Voice," as he might think proper to make. 
This remark will sufficiently explain to the reader, the grounds of that 
license by which the author has drawn so many of his best materials 
from the rich depository alluded to.* 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD EDITION. 



Mankind are more frequently swayed by prejudice than reason. 
Reason has a clear eye ; but prejudice is blind, and either clings tena- 
ciously to old doctrines and time-worn systems, or gropes forward in im- 
minent danger of stumbling upon the dark mountains, of errour. Hence, 
tiew systems generally meet with more opposers than advocates; and 
lence, too, bad systems and false doctrines, on their first promulgation, 
s^ain as many proselytes as those that are genuine and useful. We 
aeed not wonder, then, that philosophers have been imprisoned, states- 
men banished, poets starved, apostles beheaded, and that the Saviour 
of men was crucified, while dupes and impostors have been counte- 
nanced, honoured, and even deified. Nor need we be astonished that 
every successful improvement in science and the arts, has gained its 
popularity only by slow degrees. That reformer, therefore, who would 
succeed, must not attempt, at once, any great innovation. It is in ac- 
cordance with this maxim, that I have undertaken to do but a little in 
the following Essay. 

They who have long groped in the darkness of a dungeon, cannot 
bear to be suddenly ushered into the full glare of a noonday's sun. 
How can it be expected, then, that those who have hitherto been con- 
tent to read, or rather, try to read, without a knowledge of any of the 
principles of reading, can be persuaded to adopt, at once, all the princi- 
ples of the science'? Believing it better to do a. little good, than wo good, 
I have contented myself, for the present, with presenting to the publick, 
07ily those principles of elocution that I deem most important in practice, 
leaving it for a future opportunity, or to those who may succeed me, 



* It is the design of the Author to publish, in the course of a year or two, a Sequel 
to this work, ancf soon to follow that by a treatise on Rhetorics. He may likewise 
deem it advisable to publish an Introduction to this Essay. 



10 ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD EDITION. 

to give a more extensive and complete treatise upon the subject. To a 
man who is wandering in the dark, a farthing candle is better than no 
light. 

Inattention to principles in our systems of instruction, has long been 
complained of by the discerning few; and, although some slight refor- 
mation in regard to this point, has taken place :;n our schools, yet the 
grer.t importance of it, is still, both by teachers and parents, too gener- 
ally overlooked. That the examination and investigation of princi- 
ples, in any art or science, are highly calculated to call into active ex- 
ercise the reasoning faculties, is universally admitted. How incon- 
sistent is it, then, to think of teaching children to read, without causing 
them to pay attention to the principles of reading ! — It is hoped that so 
gross an absurdity as this, will not much longer disgrace our schools 
and seminaries of learning. 

■ The investigation and application of the principles of elocution, as 
well as the study of the principles of grammar, arithmetick, philosophy, 
phrenology, and so forth, tend not only to develop and expand the in- 
tellectual powers, but, also, in a pre-eminent degree, to cultivate the 
taste, and refine the mind. 

We boast of our liberal institutions, and of our admirable form ol 
government : nay, more ; of our intelligence. It is admitted that we 
have done much for the cause of learning; but who cannot perceive, 
that much remains to be done before we can justly lay claim to that 
noble and refined excellence which ought to adorn a great, a prosper- 
ous, and a free people? Who will deny, that, in the general scramble 
after wealth, most of our citizens overlook the refined, the beautiful, in 
their too eager pursuit of the useful? Who will deny, that, with us, 
even at the present day, the standard value of every discovery and im- 
provement in science and the arts, is not, (as it ought to be,) the amount 
it will add to the happiness of man — is not, its tendency to enlighten, 
to refine, to liberalize him, and elevate him in the scale of being ; but 
— its ability to improve his condition in the mere matter of dollars and 
cents? — and that most of our systems of education, as well as the 
branches taught in our schools, are exclusively shaped to this end 1 — 
Intelligence ! And is this our standard of intelligence, flowing from 
our boasted principles of enlightened freedom 1 Has refinement, has 
'"gance, nothing to do with national excellence, with national great- 
*s 2 Shall it any longer be said, that the breath of liberty blights the 
e a r *.?, and banishes refinement '? Shall American freemen merit 
• reproach of being a nation of misers ? — I leave it to the legislators 
A statesmen of our country to answer these interrogatories, and to 
% whether a state of prosperity has not arrived, which would justify 
nore liberal course of policy in regard to our school-systems and 
encouragement of the fine arts — a course embracing, not only the 
ful, but. also, the elegant: — and especially to decide, whether refine- 
nt of manners (which would naturally flow" from such a course of poli- 
i would be dangerous to the liberties of our country. 
** To the teacher it may be proper to remark, that one hundred and 
hty pages of this third edition, exactly correspond with the same 
:>es of the second edition ; but that other parts of the work have beec 
arged, and slightly altered, and, it is hoped, for the better. In order 
prevent farther alterations, however, the work has been stereotyped. 



CONTENTS 



PART I.— Elocution. 



Page 
Elocution— Introduction, - 15 
Articulation, - - - - 21 
Distinctness, 21 

Of the Elementary Sounds, - 22 
Of the Radical and Vanishing 

Movement of the Voice, - - 24 
Of the Tonick, Subtonick, and 

Atonick elements, - - - 26 
Diphthongs and Monothongs, 27 
Of the formation of Syllables, - 28 
Of the unaccented Vowel Sounds 
— defects in exploding them, 

34, 35 
Of the Consonant Sounds, - 36 
Errour of blending Syllables, - 38 
Pronunciation of and, - - 40 
Suppression and perversion of 
elementary _ Sounds to be 
guarded against, - - - 42 
Affected Pronunciation of par- 
ticular Vowels, - - 42 to 47 
Of miscalling Words, - : - 48 
Importance of a good Articula- 
tion, - - - - 49 to 53 
Of Tones and Modulation, 53 to 67 
Semitone, Monotone, - - 54 
Interval, Qualities of Voice, Ab- 
ruptness, Pitch, - - - 55 
Diatonick Scale, Note, Tone, 
Concrete and Discrete Slides, 

54, 55, 67 
Tones— Modulation, - 68 

Errours in regard to Pitch and 

Tones— Affected Tones, - 61 to 63 
Errours in Modulation — Monot- 
ony—Artificial Variety, - - 64 
Uniform Variety, - - 65 

Inflections of the Voice, Cir- 
cumflex, Concrete Slides, - 67 
Rising Inflection or Slide, of a 

third, fifth, and octave, - 68 
Falling Inflection, - - - 69 
Rule.* for the Inflections, 74 to 91 



A Series— Simple, Compound, 

&C, - - - 87 to 92 

Rules for the Simple Series, - 88 
Rules for the Compound Series, 91 
Rules for Series of Series, - - 92 
Circumflex or Wave, - - 94 
Single and Double Wave, Con- 
tinued, Equal, Direct, &c, - 95 
Wrong Inflection capable of per- 
verting the sense, - - 9? 
Analysis of Force, - - 105, 106 
Radical Stress, Vanishing Force 

or Stress, - - - - 107 
Compound, and Median Stress, 
Aspirate Elements, - - 10S 

Accent, 109 

Emphasis. - - - - - 111 
Antithetick Emphasis, - - 1J2 
Emphasis of Specification, - 115 
Emphasis of Enumeration, - 117 
Emphasis, Simple and Compound, 1 1 9 
Emphasis, Superiour and Inferi- 

our, 120 

Emphasis of Radical, Median, 
Vanishing, and Compound 
Stress, - - - - - 121 
Emphatick Inflections, - - 122 
The sense of a passage, de- 
pendant on Emphasis, - 123 

Of Time, 129 

Of Quantity, 131 

Of Rhetorical Pauses, 133 to 135 

Of the Emphatick Pause, - 136 
Of Poetry and Versification, - 137 
Blank Verse, Poetick Feet, - 138 
Manner of Reading Poetry, — 

Poetical Pauses, - - - 139 
On reading Blank Verse, - - 140 
Caesural Pause, 141 

Rhetorical Action, - - - 147 
General Hints to the Reader and 

the Speaker, - - - - 151 
Hints on Pulpit Eloquence, - 152 



CONTENTS. 



PART II. — Selections in Prose and Poetry. 



Page 
Paragraphs in Prose, 155 

Manner of Reading Prose, 155 

Alexander Hamilton, Webster, 158 
Eloquence of Daniel Webster, 159 
Waste of Time, Lindsey, 159 

Injustice of Revenge— Political 

and Moral Maxims, 

Dr. Johnson, 160 
Female fortitude— Affected great- 
ness—America and Europe 

compared, Dr. Johnson, 162, 163 
Paragraphs in Verse, 164 

The Family Altar, Burns, 164 

Bliss of the Future State. Byron, 165 
Musick — Mercy — Solitude, 

Shakspeare, 166 
Anticipation, • Campbell, 167 

The Miser, Pollok, 167 

Hamlet's Reflections on Yor- 

ick's Scull, Shakspeare, 169 

Reflections on the Tomb of 

Shakspeare, Irving, 169 

On Studies, Lord B aeon, 170 

Liberty and Slavery, Sterne, 172 

On the Starry Heavens, Flint, 173 
Scenes in Italy, Lady Morgan, 176 
Affection for the Dead, Irving, 177 
Character of Bonaparte, Phillips, 179 
Speech— Bunker-Hill Monument, 

Webster, 182 
Hezekiah, King of Judah, Gleig, 183 
Destruction of Sennacherib's 

Army, Byron, 186 

Psalm 137, 187 

Version of the same, Barlow, 187 
Version of the same, Byron, 188 

Cardinal Wolsey's Soliloquy on 

Ambition, Shakspeare, 189 

Wolsey's Address to Cromwell, 

Shakspeare, 189 
Hohenlinden, Campbell, 190 

The Burial of Sir John Moore, 

Wolfe, 191 
Messiah, _ Pope, 192 

On receiving his Mother's Picture, 

Cowper, 195 
Man was made to Mourn, a 

Dirge , Burns, 198 

To the Skies, Bryant, 200 

Musick of the Ocean, 

National Gazette, 201 
The Ocean at the Resurrection 

Morn, Pollok, 202 

Address to the Ocean, Byron, 204 
Colloquial Powers of Doctor 

Franklin, Wirt, 207 

Intellectual Qualities of Milton, 

Channing, 208 
Hamlet's Advice to the Players, 

S/vakspeare, 210 



Efficacy of the Sacred Scrip- 
tures, Wayland, 211 
St. John, chapter 9, 214 
Industry necessary to the Attain- 
ment of Eloquence, Ware, 216 
On Eloquence, Wirt, 218 
Caspar Hauser, 221, 224, 230 
Traits of Indian Character, 

Irving, 240, 243 
Speech of Logan, Jefferson, 247 

Speech of Farmers Brother, 248 
Red Jacket, Halleck, 249 

Psalm 90, 251 

Version of the same, Watts, 252 

St. John, chapter 12, 253 

Version of the same, Moore, 253 

There's nothing true but Heaven, 

Moore, 264 
Secret Devotion, Moore, 254 

The Soul in Eternity, Byron, 255 
Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy on 

Sleep, Shakspeare, 255 

Apostrophe to Light, Milton, 255 
Darkness, Byron, 257 

Lochiel's Warning, Campbell, 259 
Gray's Elegy, 261 

Stanzas, Dr. Percival, 261 

Dedications, Lord Bacon, 2G6 

Reflections on Westminster Ab- 
bey, Addison, 267 
Reflections on Westminster Ab- 
bey, Irving, 26? 
On Subscribing for Books, Flint, 272 
On Natural and Fantastical 

Pleasures, Guardian, 274 

Thoughts on Death, Bacon, 277 

On Ugly Women, 282,' 285 

Philosophy of Apparitions, 

Quarterly Review, 288, 20 1 
Perpetuity of the Church, 

Dr. Mason, 294 
Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield, 

Dr. Johnson, 296 
Rolla's Speech to the Peruvians, 

Sheridan, 297 
Speech of Caius Marius to the 

Romans, 29S 

Reply of Mr. Pitt to Walpole, 301 
On the Death of Gen. Hamilton, 

Dr. Nott, 302 
Webster's Speech .in reply to 

Hayne, . 304 

The Broken Heart, Irving, 307 

Speech of Robert Emmet, 309 

Brutus' Harangue on the Death 

of Cesar, Shakspeare, 315 

Antony's Oration over Cesar's 

Dead Body, Shakspeare, 310" 

Speech of Henry the Fifth, 

Shakspeare, 31 S 



CONTENTS AND KEY. 



13 



Page 
Parting of the Three Indian 

Friends, Moore, 319 

The Sailor Boy's Dream, 319 

Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death, 

Shakspeare, 320 
Cato's Soliloquy on the Immor- 
tality of the Soul, 

Addison, 321 
The Dying Christian to his Soul, 

Pope, 322 
The Alhambra by Moonlight, 

Irving, 323 
Moslem Domination in Spain, 

Irving, 324 
Thoughts on Handwriting, 

Verplanck, 327 
The Monk, Sterne, 332 

Storv of Lft Fever, Sterne, 334 



Page 
Advantages of a Civilized, over a 

Savage, State, Spurzheim, 342 
Superiority of Christianity over 

Paganism, Spurzheim, 343 

The Wisdom and Majesty of 
God, attested by the Works of 
Creation, Dr. Chalmers, 345 

Arguments showing the proba- 
bility that the Planetary and 
Astral Worlds are Inhabited, 

Dr. Chalmers, 346 
The same subject continued, 

Dr. Chalmers, 348 
Pleasures of Hope, Campbell, 350 
Address to Greece, Byron, 352 

The Passions, Collins, 353 

Alexander's Feast ; or, The 
Power of Musick, Dryden, 355 



KEY 

To the Characters Employed in this Work. 

The Falling Inflection of the voiee is indicated by the grave accent : v , 
thus, -.--- - ' " (X 

The Rising Inflection, by the acute accent : ~ ' " ~ " iA 

The Circumflex or Wave, by the circumflex :----- ( A ) 

A tonick or vowel sound that is to be prolonged, by this charac- 
ter - placed over the vowel : thus. aeiou 

A, short vowel sound, by this " placed over the vowel : thus, aeibu 

Tiie shortest Rhetorical Pause, by two dots : (..) 

A longer Rhetorical Pause, by three :(...) - - - .... 

A longer still, by four : (,....) - - - - - -'.... 

Words italicised, are to receive a moderate degree of emphatick 

force; as, .__.-_..._ man 

Words in small capitals, a higher degree of the same :"---■ maiv 

Words in CAPITALS, a degree still higher: .... MAN 



IN PART II. 



The Figured Vowels employed in pronouncing words at the bottom of tho 
pages, are used in accordance with Mr. Walker's Key, as adopted in Cobb's 
Dictionary : thus, 

Fate, far, fall,, fat, — me, met,— pine, pin, — no, move, nor, not. 

-oil — pound— pirn, this. 

2 



-tube, tub, bull- 



ADDRESS TO TEACHERS. 



On a preceding page, the author has intimated, that most instructed <re 
lamentably deficient in their knowledge of elocution. The reproach contain- 
ed in this allusion, was not levelled solely at teachers. That they are both 
guilty and amenable for all their pedagogical sins of omission, the author 
can hardly be so uncharitable as to believe. In their laudable and laborious 
calling, he is aware that they have many difficulties to contend with, many 
obstacles to surmount, many evils to encounter. Among these might be men- 
tioned, bad books, perverse children, ignorant parents, and lean salaries. It 
is not, therefore, reasonable to expect, that, while their means and opportu- 
nities are thus utterly inadequate to such a task, teachers can accomplish 
every thing which the enlightened and liberally-minded desire to see gained 
by the noble business of instructing. 

But notwithstanding all that may be said in extenuation of the defects and 
negligences of teachers, the dignity and usefulness of their high calling, 
mainly depend upon themselves. If they choose to elevate their profession, 
by acting in concert, they have the power to do it. It behooves all, then, who 
are thus devoted to the best interests of their fellow-beings, to look well to 
their qualifications and their doings, and to see if there is not yet left room for 
improvement. 

It is not the author's object either to dogmatize, or to sermonize, to a class 
of men in which many are to be found with whose names he would deem it 
a high honour to be permitted to associate his own as an equal ; but he is 
anxious, if possible, to point a remark that will excite a spirit of emulation 
among the spiritless, of ambition in the unambitious, and awaken all to a 
sense of the hisih responsibilities of their calling, and of the undying honours 
which will hallow the fame of those who excel in it. In accordance with 
this object, he begs leave to call the attention of teachers to the small work 
which he now presents to the publick, and to themselves in particular ; and, 
at the same time, without arrogance or fawning sycophancy, to express a 
hope, that it will be found worthy to occupy a place as a class-book in 
schools, and travel the rounds of usefulness as the relative and fellow- com- 
panion of "English Grammar in familiar Lectures" — in reference to the ex- 
traordinary and unexpected success of which work, he may doubtless be per- 
mitted emphatically to say with Prospero, "Your breath has filled my 
sails." 

*** All necessary directions in regard to the method of teaching from this 
manual, will be found where they ought to be — dispersed through the pages of 
the work— It may be added, that the selected portion of this work, will be 
found a suitable accompaniment of his Grammar, as a set of convenient and 
useful Exercises in Parsing. In order to adapt them to this purpose, 
the author has taken much pains to correct them, and render them giam- 
matical. 

It is to be hoped that no teacher among those who have not hitherto paid 
attention to the principles of reading, will be afraid to adopt this treatise as a 
text-book. Most of the principles may*be easily understood and applied in 
practice. Hence, an enterprising instructor may very readily qualify himself 
to teach elocution, by the very efforts he must employ in communicating a 
knowledge of it to his pupils. It will be far better for the learner to under- 
stand one-half of the principles of the science, than none of them. Let wo 
one, then, be afraid to undertake. 

S. KIRKHAM. 

Baltimore, July 2G, 1833. 



PART I. 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



ELOCUTION. 



Elocution treats of the just pronunciation of 
words arranged into sentences, and forming a dis- 
course, and is here employed as synonymous with 
enunciation, or delivery. 

Pronunciation may be considered in a twofold 
light. When applied to the correct sounds given 
to single letters or single words without reference 
to their mutual dependance on each other, it is 
styled Orthoepy ; hut when extended to the just 
enunciation of words arranged into sentences, and 
depending on each other for sense, it is called 
JRlocution. 

Elocution, in its most extensive sense, develops a set of 
principles, and lays down a system of rules, which teach us to 
pronounce, either extemporaneous thoughts, or written composi- 
tion, with justness, energy, variety, and ease. It tends to di- 
rect the judgment and improve the taste of the reader or the 
speaker, not only in delivering his own sentiments, but also in 
ascertaining the most delicate shades and graces of thought in- 
tended to be expressed in a piece of composition enunciated, so 
as to present to the mind of the hearer, the full meaning of the 
author, in the most lively, impressive, and glowing, and forcible 
manner. It contemplates the development and cultivation of 
those powers of the human voice employed in speech, and di- 
rects them to such an adaptation and application in their move- 
ments, as will enable them to perform the high functions of their 
office with all that energy, beauty, variety, and effect, with 
which, under such cultivation only, they are capable. 



16 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

The first object of elocution is, tc make a good reader ; its 
second object is, to make a good reader ; its third object, to 
make a good reader ; its last and grand object is, to make an 
accomplished and a powerful speaker. 

That the study of this science is capable of making great 
orators of the generality of men, no one has the folly to con- 
tend ; but to suppose, that a legitimate argument against the 
general utility of the science may hence be drawn, would be 
equally unreasonable. To the auditor, the force and beauty 
of every sentence uttered, and not unfrequently its meaning, 
depend upon the manner in which it is pronounced. Not only 
the stronger passions and emotions, such as love, joy, grief, pity, 
sorrow, envy, anger, and remorse, admiration, approbation, 
commendation, vexation, and reproof, courage, terrour, reproach, 
and the like, require each its peculiar intonation, but, likewise, 
all the less prominent affections and feelings. 

In uttering our own thoughts we are not so liable to depart 
from the simplicity of nature, as we are in expressing the senti- 
ments of others. By a misconception of the spirit and design 
of the author, readers and speakers often mar, and sometimes 
totally pervert, his meaning. Hence the importance of atten- 
tion to rules, by the observance of which, misconceptions and 
erroneous modes of utterance may generally be avoided, and 
'the sentiments of the author be expressed in a manner, at once, 
agreeable and impressive. 

It is not, perhaps, possible to lay down rules for the manage- 
ment of the voice in reading and speaking, by which all the 
necessary tones, pauses, emphases, modulations, and inflections, 
may be discovered and put in practice. To accomplish this, 
much depends on the judgment and natural taste of the learner ; 
and much more, on the example and instructions of the living 
teacher. Yet it will not be denied by those w T ho are compe- 
tent to decide, that strict attention to a set of judicious rules, 
grounded in the nature of language and the philosophy of the 
human voice, will prove highly serviceable to such as are at- 
tempting to form a chaste and an accurate enunciation. If it 
be admitted, that principles and rules are useful in the attain- 
ment of any art or science, it cannot be denied that they are 
equally so to the votary of the science of reading and speaking. 

But in order to approach perfection in any art or science, 
attention to rules alone will be found insufficient. The student 
in elocution should remember, that the vocal powers, like those 
of the mind or the other powers of the body, are strengthened 
and matured, and brought under subjection, only by a long and 



ELOCUTION. 17 

persevering exercise of them. For his encouragement, also, 
he ought to bear in mind, that those functions of voice exerted 
in speech, are as susceptible of improvement by cultivation and 
practice, as those, for example, which are employed in singing. 
Who would expect to attain a high degree of excellence in phi y- 
ing upon a wind instrument, without frequently blowing upo)j 
it? or to become a skilful mechanist, without learning the 
names and use of the tools of that art to which he was devoted? 
or to become a clear and sound reasoner, without carefully and 
frequently exercising his thinking and reasoning faculties upon 
different subjects and in various methods ? Let no one, then, cher- 
ish the thought, that he can excel in elocution, without a careful 
attention to the nature, and character, and application of the 
•principles of the science: but, at the same time, let the am- 
bitious student bear in mind, that, as by strict attention to 
principles and rules, and by long practice, with native endow- 
ments by no means extraordinary, the vocalist attains a perfec- 
tion in harmony which awakes the soul to the enjoyment of the 
most delightful emotions: the musician is enabled to produce 
those thrilling and spirit-stirring sounds which affect the feel- 
ings and the senses as if drawn out by the voice of a heavenly 
enchanter ; the mechanist, to rear a monument of skill and in- 
genuity which calls forth the plaudits of an admiring world, 
and carries down his name to posterity ; the mariner, to trav- 
erse the vast wilderness of unknown waters, and reveal to his 
fellow men their distant islands and boundaries ; the logician, 
to penetrate the dark depths of errour and chaos, and bring up 
from among the rubbish the precious pearls and gems of truth ; 
the philosopher, to pierce the veil of ignorance and speculation, 
and ascertain and establish the true system of the universe ; the 
geologist, to disclose the treasures buried in the bowels of the 
earth ; the painter, to make the russet canvass glow with life ; 
and the sculptor, to make the inanimate marble breathe ; so, by 
similar attention and exertions, he may learn to make that 
which is dull in composition, appear interesting ; that which is 
commonplace, novel ; that which is plain, elegant ; and what is 
tame, eloquent ; and in short, to bring out of that which is 
truly excellent, all those latent beauties and rich graces ot 
thought, in such a manner as to excite the deepest interest, and 
elicit the highest admiration, of his auditors. 

A good reader has always at his command, not only a vast 

field of the most refined and rational enjoyment — even the 

whole field of literature and science — over which he himself 

mav revel, but, also, the ability to conduct others into it, bv a 

2* y 



18 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

way, at once, the most enticing and delightful In this respect, 
he possesses so enviable an advantage over common people as 
to render it a matter of astonishment that we so seldom meet 
with one thus endowed. When occasion calls forth his peculiar 
talent, he appears among them like the stately magnolia, tower- 
ing above the vulgar trees of the forest, and shedding upon them 
the sweet fragrance of its blossoms. 

But what a disagreeable contrast is presented in the perform- 
ance of a bad reader ! In his hands, the most glowing senti- 
ments appear tame j the most burning thoughts are congealed ; 
attick wit becomes burlesque ; satire is rendered pointless ; 
beauty is transformed into deformity; and all ornaments of 
style wither; and thus, a piece of the most polished and 
eloquent composition, appears to as great a disadvantage as 
would a pleasure-garden with its walls overturned, its gravel- 
walks marred, its fountains and statues dilapidated, its trees 
and shrubbery scathed, and its plants and flowers trodden down. 

Who can behold, with delight, a racehorse with a broken 
limb ? a bird with a crippled wing 1 a plant growing crooked ? 
or a beautiful stream choked up with sedges and rubbish ? And 
yet, how often do we Avitness a far more painful spectacle in 
the exhibition of one of those literary monsters vulgarly called 
bad readers ! Before the performance commences, we have 
displayed the insipid formalities of the prelusive scene, during 
which our champion of vocal utterance is devoutly engaged in 
bringing his body to an artificial bearing, in adjusting his collar 
and cravat, in smoothing down his visage, and in putting his mouth 
in a proper posture for the wordy combat. A few moments 
having been taken up in acting this distressing prologue, he at 
length gets under way ; but having mistaken his key-note, our 
ears are assailed with a piercing and unseemly shrillness ol 
tone, which affects us about as agreeably as the unexpected cry 
of a snipe or a killdee, or the creaking of a rusty hinge; or 
he advances in a hoarse, dissonant, croaking tone, as if in imi- 
tation of the combined powers of the peacock, the bullfrog, and 
the alligator, which may be supposed to have joined in a con- 
cert : or, perhaps, with a view of correcting his mistake, he 
suddenly falls into a dull, disagreeable, dragging, humdrum 
monotone ; or gallops off on the sharp back of a quaver : and 
not to be daunted by the most gigantick obstacle, he prances, and 
paces, and hobbles, and flounders along through his performance, 
to the infinite disgust, and inexpressible mortification, of his hear- 
ers. His articulation is indistinct ; his pronunciation, affected ; 
his accentuation, erroneous ; his emphasis, misapplied ; all ap- 



ELOCUTION. 19 

propriate inflections are reversed ; pauses are either perverted 
or trampled under foot ; melody is put upon the rack, and har- 
mony expires ; all rules are set at defiance ; correct taste is 
put out of countenance ; the meaning" of the author takes the 
alarm and escapes from view ; the modesty of nature is put to 
the blush ; and the whole group of proprieties is sent jibbering 
down to chaos. 

To see a piece of elegant composition tattered and torn, and 
mutilated and mangled, by such a reader, is severer torture than 
to listen to the jarring notes of a discordant choir, to an untun- 
ed organ, or to a cracked fiddle. I would rather ride post over 
a hubby road in December ; walk barefoot over a sandy plain 
in July ; or be compelled to live a fortnight, in a smoky house ; 
or to devour a Ratcliffe novel at one meal ; or to read a chapter 
in Basil Hall's Travels, or a page in Emmons' Fredoniad, or a 
critique on an American writer in the London Quarterly, than 
to have my nerves agitated, my understanding stultified, and 
my patience exhausted, by listening to such a vile performer on 
the grand harmonicon of human language. I would rather lis- 
ten to the croaking of frogs m the winter — I would sooner 
hear an owl hoot on a Sunday, or a simpering dandy chat with 
a belle — I would sooner listen to the buzzing of a moscheto of a 
hot summer's night, or to a patent-jenny-spun speech in Congress 
on the Tariff Bill, or to the thrumming of a dandyzette at her 
piano, or to a band of musicians playing upon baseviols and 
bassoons — I would rather hear the jingling of broken glass 
upon a pavement, or the trampling of feet through crusted snow, 
or a group of madcap boys bellowing after a fire-engine, or the 
refusal of a friend to lend me money — I would sooner hear a 
woman scold, or a child squall, than be compelled to listen to 
an affected speaker, or a bad reader. 

To urge upon this community the importance of this science, 
may, nevertheless, be considered, by many, like attempting to 
prove the correctness of the plainest, self-evident proposition ; 
but when we reflect, that in our seminaries of learning, the study 
of elocution meets with greater neglect than any other of equal 
importance, and that the consequent ignorance of its principles, 
often betrayed by tutors and learned professors in the presence 
of their pupils, by students in their recitations and declamations, 
by publick speakers in the pulpit, at the bar, in publick assem- 
blies, and in our legislative halls : ignorance which, were it 
evinced by the same individuals, in any other equally important 
branch of learning, would inevitably expose them to the pity, if 
not to the contempt, of their auditory ; — when we bring these 



20 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

fans into consideration, is it not clear, that every argument 
should be adduced, every honourable motive urged, and every 
passion addressed, which is calculated to awaken the attention 
of the young, and direct it to the momentous advantages result- 
ing from the proper cultivation of this science ? To say nothing 
of the arguments which might be drawn from the devotion of 
the ancients to this subject, there is one of sufficient weight 
nearer at hand, arising out of the mortification experienced by 
every person of correct taste who is compelled frequently to listen 
to a bad reader : for, indeed, how few there are that can take 
up a book, and enunciate even an ordinary passage, without 
causing the words to blush at the indignity east upon them, and 
the sentiments to tremble for their safety ! 

GIUESTIONS 

To be answered by the learner. 

Of what does Elocution treat! 

What is the difference between Elocution and Orthoepy'? 

What is effected by Elocution, taken in its most comprehensive sense 1 

What is the first, second, third, and last object of Elocution 1 

Does the meaning of a sentence ever depend on its Elocution 1 



ELOCUTION. 



Elocution may be treated under the six follow- 
ing, general heads : 

1. Articulation, 4. Force, 

(Embracing Accent and Emphasis,) 

2. Tones, 5. Time, 

(Including Modulation,) (Including Pauses,) 

3. Inflections, 6. Action. 

The first four of these divisions, are meiely the names oi 
properties or qualities belonging to the human voice ; the fifth 
is a circumstance accompanying its movements ; and the sixth, 
a concomitant of good delivery. 



CHAPTER I 



OF ARTICULATION. 

A good Articulation consists in a clear, full, 
and distinct utterance of words, in accordance 
with the best standard of pronunciation. 

Importance of Articulation. 

A distinct and an accurate articulation forms the ground- 
work of good delivery. So important a quality is this to a 
reader or a speaker, that, without possessing it, in some tolera- 
ble degree, he will never be listened to with attention or in- 
terest. 

A clear and distinct ARTICULATION, so far from consti- 
tuting, as is too often supposed, merely an incidental and indif- 
ferent characteristick of a good reader or speaker, is, in fact, a 
primary BEAUTY, — indeed, the grand easis upon which 
all other beauties and excellences of enunciation rest. The 
learner must not, therefore, be either discouraged or disgusted 
with the dryness and tediousness of the following explanations 



22 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

and exercises upon the elementary sounds of the language ; but 
he ought resolutely to persevere until he gains a complete 
mastery over them. When he has at command a clear and 
distinct articulation, he will be prepared to prosecute, to advan- 
tage, those higher and more interesting parts of elocution. 

The most important directions for acquiring a good articula- 
tion, will doubtless be found most convenient if presented in the 
form of Rules. 

RULE I. 

Particular regard should be paid to a clear and 
distinct pronunciation of the elementary sounds 
employed in vocal utterance. 

OF THE ELEMENTARY SOUNDS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 

There are thirty-Jive elementary sounds # em- 
ployed and combined by the voice in pronouncing 
the various words of our language. Some of 
these sounds are represented by the twenty-six 
letters which constitute the English Alphabet ; 
and others, by combinations of two or more of 
these letters. 

A perfect Alphabet would consist of a separate symbol for 
every elementary sound ; but the letters of our alphabet, being 
imperfect in this respect, are employed to represent the sounds 
which denote their names, and, also, other elementary sounds 
employed in the utterance of syllables. Hence, there is often a 
material difference between the elementary sounds heard in 
pronouncing syllables, and represented by particular letters, 
and those sounds which constitute merely the names of the same 
letters. A few examples may serve to point out this difference, 
which ought to be specially attended to in practising upon the 
elementary sounds of the human voice. 

In the words 0-pe, &-che, a-te, the sound of the element a, 
corresponds with the sound given to the name of that letter ; but 
a different elementary sound is represented by the same letter 
in the words a-\\, b-a-11, i-a-W ; and a sound still different in a-\, 
h-a-t, th-a-t ; and yet another sound in b-«-r, m-^-r, a-rbour. 
In the word n-o-te, the letter 0, represents the sound given to 
its name ; but in the word n-o-t, it is the representative of quite 

* Dr. Rush. 



Chap. I. ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. 23 

a different elementary sound ; and of a sound slightly different 
again in the word n-o-r ; to which may be added a fourth ele- 
mentary sound in m-o-ve. Similar remarks might be extended 
to e in m-e, imp-e-rative, m-e-t, to i in p-z-ne, p-i-n, to u in \-u-te, 
h-u-t, f-w-11 ; but these variations in the sounds of the vowels, 
are familiar to every one, although every one has not noticed, 
that these five vowels are employed, without combining them, 
as the representatives of fifteen, distinct, elementary sounds of 
the voice. Th in th-ink, has a different sound from th in wi-th, 
th-is. Ch in ar-6-A-angel, represents the elementary sound com- 
monly denoted by k, but quite a different sound in ar-cA-er. As 
these graphick characters called letters, then, are employed to 
represent, not only the sounds which denote their names, but, 
also, other elementary sounds which enter into the pronuncia- 
tion of syllables, the aspirant for excellence in elocution, should 
deem no attention too minute — no course of labours too arduous, 
which may be found requisite in order to obtain a complete mas- 
tery of all their elementary sounds. 

There are many elementary sounds for the representation of 
which we have no single letters. To make up this deficiency 
in our alphabet, these sounds are represented by two or more 
letters combined. By pronouncing the words ^A-ump, brea-rA, 
brea-zAe, so-?^, sh-ut, wh-at, ch-uv-ch, ou-t, in a slow and drawl- 
ing manner, it will readily be perceived by those who have not 
heretofore attended to the subject, that the combinations th, the, 
ng, sh, %m, ch, and ou, express each an elementary sound which 
is not represented by any single letter in the alphabet. 

The same letter is not only employed to represent different 
elementary sounds, but the same elementary sound is often ex- 
pressed by various letters, or by various combinations of letters. 
In the words s-o-n, d-o-th, d-o-es, the letter o, is employed a? 
the representative of an elementary sound commonly expressed 
by u, as in s-u-n, d-w-th, d-%-z. In the words p-w-pil, n-ew, 
l-ieu, v-ieiv, h-eau-ty, the letters u, ew, ieu, iew, and eau, are 
employed to represent one and the same elementary sound, a 
sound commonly denoted by u. The e in th-e-re, ei in th-ci-r, 
and ai in ai-r, have the same sound as a in sn-a-ie. 

QUESTIONS 

To be ansivered by the learner. 

What are the six general divisions of elocution 1 

Of what does chapter I, treat 7 ? 

In what does a good articulation consist 1 

What forms the basis of good delivery'? 

Is articulation a primary beauty in elocution 1 



24 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Repeat Rule 1. 

How many elementary sounds are employed in pronouncing the woids 
of the English language 1 

By what are these sounds represented 1 

Do letters ever represent any other sounds than those which denote 
their names ? v 

Give some illustrations of the various sounds of a, o, e, i, u, th, ch, sh, 
ng, and the. 

Give examples in which o, ew, ieu, iew, and eau, are pronounced 
like u. 

EXERCISES. 

Explode the elementary sound of a in a-te, a-im b-a — a-l\, 
h-a-ll, "p-aw — a-X, m-a-t, b-a-t — f-a-r, c-&-r, &-rt : — of o in 0-at, 
m-o-te, n-o — n-o-t, g-o-t — o-r, n-o-r — m-o-ve, pr-o-ve : — of e in 
m-e — m-e-rit, m-e-t: — of i in 1-i-ne, b-i-nd. 

Give the separate sound of th in th-is, wi-th — th in brea-^A ; — 
of ch in ar-cA, ch-\iv-ch — ar-cA-angel : — of sh in wash : — of ng, 
in lo ng : — of wh in wA-at : — of z in a-z-ure : — of ou in ou-x : — ■ 
and of oi in oi-l. 

OF THE RADICAL AND VANISHING MOVEMENT OF THE VOICE. 

Among- the wonderful contrivances of nature in directing the 
operations of the vocal powers in the production of speech, in no 
one thing has she displayed greater wisdom than in that which 
relates to the simple elements called by Dr. Rush, the Radical 
and Vanishing movement of the voice. To this philosophical 
inquirer, the world is indebted for the following analysis of these 
important functions. 

If the vowel a be pronounced without intensity or emotion, 
and as if it were a continuation, and not a close, of utterance, 
two successive sounds will be heard : the first, the nominal sound 
of the letter a, issuing from the vocal organs with a certain de- 
gree of abrupt fulness ; the last, a feebler sound of the element 
e, which gradually diminishes until it terminates in silence 
Example : ' He proved that a — is a diphthong.' 

To the unpractised student, the diphthongal character of a 
will be more clearly demonstrated, if its sound be protracted, 
and uttered with an emotion of surprise, at the close of an inter 
rogation : thus, ' Do you call that a V 

The character of this opening fulness and feebler vanish, 
may be still more clearly manifested by pronouncing the element 
in the following, various ways : let the opening be strong and 
full, and the vanish less forcible, with a pause between the open- 
ing sound a and the vanishing sound e, and then a shorter 
pause, and then a shorter still, and so on, until both the opening 



vhap. I. RADICAL AND VANISH. 25 

and the vanish become blended into one sound : thus, A t x 

A — e, A-e, a-e, ce. 

Similar experiments may be practised upon the diphthongs, 
i as heard in z-sle, y in dr-3/, and ou in ou-i ; and upon the simple 
elements, e as heard in ee-\, o«m oo-ze, and so forth. 

This opening fulness of sound here described, 
Dr, Rush has denominated the Radical movement , 
because the following or vanishing portion of the 
elementary sound, rises (in the rising vanish) con- 
cretely from it as from a base or root : and the last 
portion he calls the Vanishing movement, on ac- 
count of its becoming gradually weaker, until it 
finally dies away into silence. 

QXTESTIONS. 

Please lo illustrate the diphthongal character of a, by pronouncing it 
in such a manner as fully to display its radical and vanishing movement 
of sound. 

Explode i, y, ou, e, o, &c. so as to illustrate the radical and vanish oi 
each. 

Why are the radical and vanishing movements of the voice so styled 1 

EXERCISES. 

Explode the following vowels in such a manner (that is, by 
protracting or lengthening them) as to show their diphthongal 
character in the radical and vanishing movements of the voice, 
namely, a in a-te, p-a-y, d-<z-ta — i in isle, z-tem — in o-men, 
Cat-o — ou in ow-nce. 

Express the following italicised vowels with a protracted, 
rising vanish : Did he call it a ? Did she say i 1 Shall I pro- 
nounce 0? Can you sound ou? 

The same examples with a stress on the radical. 

The same with a stress on the vanish. 

Explode the same with a stress on the radical aid vanish. 

Explode them with the downward, protracted van'sh : thus, 
He called it a. She said i. I pronounce it 0. You can sound ou. 

In the same manner with stress upon the radical — up/m the 
vanish — upon the radical and vanish. 

DIVISION OF ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. 

The hoary division of the letters of our alphabet into vowels 
and consonants, handed down to us from the Greek and Roman 
etymologists, does not seem to be strictly philosophical, nor fully 
3 



ZO ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

descriptive of their relative characteristicks. A consonant is 
not only capable " of being perfectly sounded without the help 
of a vowel," but, moreover, of forming, like a vowel, a separate 
syllable. 

Dr. Rush has judiciously adopted a division and classification 
of the elementary characters of our language, in accordance 
with their use in intonation, as follows : 

The elementary characters of our language, 
are divided into three sorts, the Tonicks, the Sub- 
tonicks, and the Atonicks. 

The Tonick elements are those whose sounds 
display the properties of the radical and vanish 
in the most perfect manner. There are tivelve of 
them ; and they are heard in the sounds common- 
ly given to the separated italicks in the following 
w T ords : 

A-te, a-rk, <x-ll, a-t, ee-1, e-rr, e-nd, i-de, i-t, o-ld, 
oo-ze, ou-t. 

The tonick sounds consist of a distinct vocality, or raucous 
quality of voice, by which they are contradistinguished from 
aspirate or whispering sounds. They have a more musical 
quality than the other elementary sounds, and may be uttered 
with greater abruptness and force. They are also capable of 
indefinite prolongation ; and admit of the concrete and tremulous 
rise and fall through all the intervals of pitch. 

The Subtonick elements possess, variously, but 
in an inferiour degree, properties analogous to 
those of the tonicks. Whilst they admit of being 
intonated, or carried concretely tn rough the in- 
tervals of pitch, they are inferiour to the tonicks 
in all the emphatick and elegant purposes of 
speech. There are fourteen of them ; as, 

i?-oat, d-are, g-ilt, v-ice, z-one, y-e, id-o, £/i-at, 
a-^-ure, so-ng, /-ate, m-ate, n-ot, r-oe. 

Of the subtonicks, b, d, g, ng, I, m, n, r, have an unmixed 
vocality ; v, z, y, w, th, zh, have an aspiration joined with their 
vocality. M, n, ng, b, d, g, are purely nasal elements ; the rest 
of the subtonicks, are partly oral. 



Chap. I. DIPHTHONGS AND MONOTHONGS. 2? 

The Atonick elements are mere aspirates, or 
currents of whispering breath. They are not 
properly vocal sounds ; have but a limited power 
of variation in pitch ; and supply no part of the 
concrete movement when breathed among the 
constituents of syllables. There are nine of them, 
as heard in the words, 

U-p, a-Z, lar-A:, i-f, thi-s, h-e, tr/i-at, th-m } blu-s/i. 

Although the aspiration of the atonicks, is "both significative 
and emphatick, yet it has no musical quality in its sound, and 
affords no basis for the functions of the radical and vanish. 

Three of the subtonicks, b, d, and g, and three of the atonicks, 
p, t, and k, possess the explosive character in an eminent de- 
gree, as in uttering them, the breath bursts out after a complete 
occlusion. 

These seven of the tonick elements, a-te a-rk, o-ll, a-t, z-de, 
o-ld, ou-t, have different sounds for the two extremes of their 
concrete movement ; but the other five, ee-\, e-rr, e-nd, oo-ze, 
z-t, have each, one unaltered sound throughout the same move- 
ment ; — which fact the student is requested to demonstrate by 
experiment. 

The tonicks are divided into Diphthongs and 
Monothongs. 

The seven tonicks, a-te, a-rk, a-11, a-t, i-de, o-ld, 
ou-t, are Diphthongs, because the sounds of the 
radical and vanishing movement are different ; 
but the remaining five, ee-l, e-rr, e-nd, oo-ze, i-t, 
are called Monothongs, as their radical and van- 
ish are alike in sound. 

^4-11 has for its radical, the sound of a in all, and for its van- 
ish, a short and obscure sound of the monothong e in e-rr. 

JL-te has for its vanish, e in the monothong ee-l. 

/-de has its radical followed in like manner by a vanish of the 
monothong ee-l. 

O-ld has for its vanish, the monothong oo-ze. 

Ou-t has for its vanish, the same monothong oo-ze. 

For a farther illustration of this subject, the reader is referred 
to Dr. Rush's "Philosophy of the Human Voice," page 59 



«0 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

aUESTIONS. 

What are the three general divisions of elementary sounds, as adopt* 
edbyDr. Rush 1 

Name the twelve tonick elements. — Explode them. 

Why are they so called 1 

Wherein do the subtonick elements differ from the tonicks 1 — What 
is their number 1— Name them. 

What are the characteristicksof the nine atonick elements!— Explode 
them.— Name them.— Are they vocal sounds'?— Why not 1 Because, in 
exploding them, they make not a loud noise, or vocality. 

Which of the tonick elements are called diphthongs, and which, mon- 
othongs 1 — Illustrate the difference between them. 

EXERCISES. 

Name and explode the tonick elements in the following words 

Name, bark, ball, bat, lilach, promote, about, repeat, infer, 
depend, bamboo. 

In these examples, which are diphthongs, and which mono- 
thongs 1 Explain the difference between them. 

Now name the subtonick and the atonick elements in each 
of the following words : 

Begin to gild -oice, and it begins to rust. 

Cheapen satin] but blush not when thou canst not show it 
upon thy daughters. 

The pupil should practise upon the subtonick and atonick 
elements until he becomes perfectly familiar with all their 
sounds. In order to gain a mastery over them, let him, in ex- 
ploding them, make a pause between each of them and the 
tonicks with which they are combined : thus, o-e, t-o, y-ice, 
a-n-d, i-t, ch-ea-p-e-n, s-a-t-i-n, and so forth. 

OF THE FORMATION OF SYLLABLES. 

The foregoing development of the elementary sounds, and of 
the radical and vanishing function, furnishes information which 
completely lays open the doctrine of syllabication. 

In treating this subject. Dr. Rush philosophically illustrates 
the three following, important points: 

The peculiar operations of the voice in the pro- 
duction of syllables — The circumstantial causes 
of their length — The basis of the rule which 
ordains but one accent to a syllable. 

The radical and vanishing movements of the 
voice, constitute the essential properties of a syl- 
lable. 



Chap. I. FORMATION OF SYLLABLES. 29 

Every syllable consisting of one or more elementary sounds, 
derives its characteristicks of length and singleness of impulse, 
from the concrete movement, and from the various properties 
of the tonick, subtonick, and atonick elements of which it is 
composed. Then, as the concrete movement of the voice through 
a tone or other interval of ihe scale, is the essential function of 
a syllable, it follows, that each of the tonick elements, may, by 
itself, form a syllable ; for none of these can be pronounced 
singly, without producing the radical and vanishing movement. 

It follows, also, from the assumed causation of a syllable, that 
two tonick elements cannot be united in one syllable, or one vo- 
cal impulse ; for each having its own radical and vanish, they 
must necessarily produce tico syllables. We find, therefore, 
that Avhenever two or more tonicks are in sequence, each forms 
(except when silent) a separate syllable. 

From what has been said, it will readily be perceived, that, 
as the atonick elements have not the radical and vanishing con- 
crete, they cannot produce distinct impulses, and, consequently, 
when joined with tonicks, do not produce separate syllables. If 
the word olio, or Ohio, be properly pronounced, or so as to give 
each of the three tonicks its radical and vanish, it will be im- 
possible to condense them all into one impulse or syllable. 
Similar remarks are applicable to the words aorta, Eta, Ion, 
or any others including two or more tonick elements. But in 
the word speaks, the syllabick function is contained in the ton- 
ick ee-\, whilst the atonicks s, p, k, and s, add to the time, but 
do not destroy the monosyllabick character of the word. 

In regard to the various lengths of syllables, considered with- 
out reference to prosodial quantities, or to those abridgments and 
prolongations of voice adopted for the purpose of oratorical ex- 
pression, it may now be shown, that they are unalterably fixed 
by the constituent elements of which they are composed. 

The length of a syllable is increased, in the first place, by 
adding atonicks to a tonick : thus, by adding, for example, f to 
a, the syllable fa is formed ; and if to these, the atonick c be 
subjoined, the word face will be longer than the element a. or 
the syllable fa ; and still the triple compound will be but one 
syllable, as it can have but one concrete movement. Although 
the atonicks may be distinctly heard, (e is mute,) as forming a 
part of the length of the syllable, yet, as they are incapable of 
the concrete function, the transition through the given interval, 
is made altogether on a, as if the word consisted only of that 
element. 

Secondly, if the subtonick I be prefixed to the tonick a, the 



30 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

syllable la will be longer than a, but will still have but one 
function of the radical and vanish ; for when a subtonick is ut- 
tered before a tonick, the vanish of the subtonick does not occur : 
its radical continues on a level line of pitch, till the tonick opens 
on that line with a more emphatick radical, and carries on the 
concrete of the syllable. If to la, the subtonick v be affixed, 
the compound lave will be still longer than la, and its syllabick 
character will still be preserved by the singleness of its radical 
and vanishing movement. In the pronunciation of lave, the in- 
tonation of I and a will be as before, except that a will not move 
quite through the concrete, before v will fall in with it, and thus 
complete the vanish of the syllable. 

When an abrupt atonick is affixed and another prefixed to a 
short tonick, as in cat, pet, tik, they form the shortest syllables 
in the language : and in the pronunciation of such syllables, 
however short they may be, the concrete movement of the rad- 
ical and vanish, is still performed. This union of abrupt ele- 
ments with tonicks, is a third mode of preserving the unity of 
syllables, with a variation of their length. 

A fourth mode of combining elements, is, by a union of all 
the four kinds in one syllable : and this arrangement produces 
the longest syllables in the language. Whenever there is a 
pause after a subtonick, and, consequently, whenever it is utter- 
ed singly, or at the close of a syllable, it unavoidably takes 
the concrete movement : and the same thing occurs when it is 
followed by an atonick ; for, in this case, there is a termination 
o' vocality. It follows, therefore, that whenever both subton- 
icks and atonicks are prefixed and affixed with a tonick in 
forming a syllable, the atonicks must be placed on the extremes, 
otherwise, the single, syllabick impulse would be destroyed. 
In pronouncing the words strange (properly strandzK) and 
strength, but one radical and vanishing movement is performed 
on each ; and the syllabick unity, or singleness of impulse, is 
preserved by the peculiar arrangement of the various kinds of 
elements of which they are composed. Each of these consists 
of seven elementary sounds, which is the greatest number that 
the nature of the elements admits of being combined into one syl- 
lable. It will readily be perceived, that if the atonick and sub- 
tonick elements in these words, were transposed, so as to re- 
move the former from their appropriate places on the extremes, 
as in the arrangement rsiange, srtange, trsange, all the ele- 
ments could not be pronounced in one syllable. 

To the inquiring mind, it cannot but be interesting thus to 
discover, that, in the formation of syllables and words, which, 



Chap. I. SYLLABICATION. 31 

to the ordinary observer, appear to be composed of letters acci- 
dentally thrown together, and, as it were, grouped at random, 
nature, silent and unseen, has all the while siipefi/.tsarit^ ser 
own handiwork, and directed the whole operatic:: t-y Oio in- 
alterable and most rigid rules of philosophy. 

From the influence of the radical and vanish, the coyistifcier-.is 
of a syllable, the duration of its utterance is quickly arrest eu. 
The nine atonicks, and the three abrupt subtonicks, cause an 
interruption to the continuity of the syllabick impulse ; and the 
mingling of the different elements, must give one of these inter- 
rupters of sound, a position in every third or fourth place among 
the tonicks and the other subtonicks, and thereby set a limit to 
the duration of syllabick sound. For farther information on 
this subject, the student is again referred to the " Philosophy of 
the Human Voice," p. 72. 

The foregoing development shows, that a syllable may con- 
sist of one elementary sound, or of several. The word 7.1 at. for 
example, to one unaccustomed to a scientifick analysin of the 
elements of speech, may appear to be one indivisible sound, ut- 
tered by a single impulse of the voice. A little attention, how- 
ever, to the operation of the vocal organs in pronouncing it, will- 
enable any one to perceive, that there are in the word, three, 
distinct, elementary sounds. In producing these sounds, and in 
combining them in such a manner as to form the word mat, in 
the first place, the lips are pressed together in a peculiar man- 
ner, and, at the same time, air being forcibly impelled through 
the nostrils, " a sound is heard which somewhat resembles the 
lowing of an ox." The sound thus produced, is the one repre- 
sented by the letter m. The mouth is then opened, through 
which air is emitted, and in its passage from the throat, so mod- 
ulated by the action of the palate, tongue, and other organs of 
speech, as to produce the sound represented by the tonick a, as 
heard in the word a-t. Lastly, the tip of the tongue is pressed 
against the roof of the mouth, and by a simultaneous action, air 
is again impelled from the throat, and the tongue is withdrawn 
from the roof of the mouth ; and thus, that peculiar element is 
produced which is denoted by the abrupt atonick t. By pro- 
nouncing the word very slowly, the three elementary sounds 
here described, may readily be perceived. 

Similar experiments on the words man, not. set,bud, far, 
and the like, wall show that each is composed of three, distinct, 
elementary sounds. 



32 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



aUESTIONS AND EXERCISES. 

Wfra- constitute the essential properties of a syllable 1 

V/hy is if ikat each of the tonick elements may, by itself, form a syl- 
lable '*-- and why cannot two tonick elements be united in one syllable 1 

Why cannot the atonicks produce separate syllables'? 

V. i r^trai-i ihir, by analyzing Ohio, aorta, Eta, Obion, and so forth. 

What i; the first process of adding to the length of syllables formed 
only of '.omcksl — Give examples. 

What is the second process"? — Examples. 

How* arc the shortest syllables formed 7— Examples. 

How are vhe longest formed 1 — Examphs. 

What diluents compose each of the following syllables 1— fa, pale, 
sta, state, h, lime, strides, globe, throne, posts, grounds, strokes, shrouds, 
stroiv'dsl, 

REMARKS. 

These explanations are given with the hope, that they will 
enable the unpractised student, by a little attention, readily to 
analyze any word, and ascertain what its elementary principles 
are : for. indeed, it is but too true, that many a one who passes 
for an accomplished speaker, is yet quite ignorant of both the 
number and the character of the elementary sounds of his lan- 
guage ; and what is still more to be deplored, owing to the same 
species of ignorance, many a teacher is utterly incapable of 
correcting the perverted and defective enunciation of his pupils. 
It may not, therefore, be improper here to remark, that the only 
expeditious and sure method of teaching a foreigner, or a na- 
tive whose pronunciation is imperfect and corrupt, to pronounce 
words according to their true idiom, and the best usage of 
those who speak the language, is, by teaching him those ele- 
ments in which he fails, separately, as single and detached 
things, as well as to cause him to pronounce them in their com- 
bined state. 

Why does the foreigner or the half-taught child, say rinks or 
dinks, instead of tfAinks 1 /rift or drift, instead of thrift ? or dat, 
instead of THat? Why does he say fory, when he should say 
story ? pos-ce, instead of pos-£s ? was-ce, instead of was-^s / 
fores-ce, instead of forests ? flf, instead of M-lh? \ewth, instead 
of'len-gth? and why all the other innumerable omissions, sup- 
pressions, perversions, and distortions of the elementary sounds 
which occur so frequently with those who attempt to speak our 
language ? The whole proceeds from a want of attention to the 
proper method of exploding the elementary sounds : and, as pre- 
viously stated, the only effectual remedy for such deficiencies, is, 
to teach the elemental sounds SEPARATELY, as well as in 
leir combined state. It is in vain to attempt to correct such 



Chap. I. FORMATION OF SYLLABLES. 33 

defects by teaching pronunciation in the gross ; that is, by teach- 
ing a pupil to pronounce, successively, whole sentences or parts 
of sentences. No : the thing is altogether impracticable. He 
must be taught, not merely to pronounce each word in which 
he fails, separately, but each elementary 'part of the word sep- 
arately. He must be taught to analyze every word in the pro- 
nunciation of which he blunders, and practise upon each of its 
elements until he can explode it clearly and perfectly. 

This is a point of paramount importance to him who would 
correct a bad pronunciation, either in himself or in others : and, 
therefore, the teacher cannot be too particular in his attention to 
it. Let him try the experiment upon one whose pronunciation 
is extremely defective, and he will find, (if he has not already 
tested the fact,) that a?iy one whose vocal organs are not de- 
fective, can be taught to explode clearly any and every elemen- 
tary sound in our language, provided a practical example be 
given to him of only one element at a time ; and he will also 
find — what the author has frequently tested in practice, and 
what he, consequently, knows to be true — namely, that what- 
ever elementary sound any one can pronounce singly and sepa- 
rately, with a little practice, he can also pronounce correctly in 
its combined state — in a syllable or a word. 

By a little practice in exploding the element denoted by th in 
Mink, withe, and the one represented by th in THat, wiTH, the 
most superficial observer cannot but perceive the marked differ- 
ence between them : and if a learner mistake the one for the 
other, he should be exercised on each element separately from 
the other letters of the word to which it belongs, until he per 
fectly understands their difference. In like manner, if he sav 
rinks, or dinks, instead of thinks, or lenth instead of length, or 
posce, instead of pos^s, (and the last two errours, it should be 
borne in mind, are as gross as the first two,) he should be 
taught the difference between the elemental, combined sound o*' 
th, and that of t or d, which he had substituted for it. He 
should likewise be made to know, by repeated experiments, that, 
instead of exploding the elemental sound denoted by n g, in his 
pronunciation of length, he had given merely the sound repre- 
sented by n ; and that in mispronouncing pos-£s, his errour arose 
from the omission of the sound of /, and of the s which follows it. 
By being thoroughly exercised on the elementary sounds which 
he is in the habit of suppressing or perverting, and thus being 
led to the very bottom of the subject, the intelligent student will 
soon discover wherein he errs, and, also, the cause of his errour. 
To be able to correct an errour, an evil, a miscalculation, or a 



34 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

mistake, and, at the same time, to know, for a certainty, that 
we do correct it, and that we are able to avoid the like in fu 
ture, the only sure way is, to ascertain the cause of such errour, 
evil, miscalculation, or mistake. 

The foregoing directions under Rule 1, are mainly designed 
for the use of the inexperienced and grossly defective in articu- 
lation; but the following instructions may be found useful, not 
only to readers and speakers in general, but even to many who 
hold a very conspicuous rank as publick speakers. 

Rule 1, inculcates the importance of pronouncing distinctly, 
not merely every woid (considered as a whole) which a reader 
or a speaker utters, but every letter that enters into the orthog 
raphy of each word, silent letters only excepted. 

RULE II. 

The sounds of the unaccented vowels, should 
not be perverted nor improperly suppressed, but 
fully and correctly exploded. 

Examples; the u in popular, secwlar, singular, regular, par- 
ticular, triangular, ridiculous, conspicuous, strenwous, &c. ; the 
o in opaque, opinion, opacity, oracular, omega ; the e in esquire, 
escape, esteem, estate, establish, espy, espouse, especial, estrange, 
eruction, equipment, elopement, enough, enormous, evade, evert, 
and the like ; which are often improperly pronounced es-quire, 
escape, es-teem, &c. We frequently hear gardw, sudd?*, kitcrm, 
hyprm, chickw, sullw, slov?z, mounts, founts, curt?i, uncert?j, 
Latw, sat%, rebZ, chap/, gospZ, instead of gardm, suddin, kitclun, 
hyphen, chickin, sullin, sloven, mounh'n, fountin, curtin, uncer- 
tm, Latin, satin, rebel, chapel, gospel. This is extremely vul- 
gar. But, in the words often, stolen, fallen, hidden, bidden, 
chidden, even, open, heaven, leaven, seven, eleven, and many 
others, the unaccented vowel e should not be sounded. 

A far more fruitful source of errour, however, in which the 
sound of the unaccented vowel e is either suppressed or per- 
verted, is observable in the ordinary pronunciation of the ter- 
minations ent, ment, nent, dent, lent, cient, tient, and the like ; 
as in different, monument, compliment, government, continent, 
ardent, excellent, transient, patient. Instead of giving e its dis- 
tinct, appropriate sound, as an accomplished speaker should do, 
and as the rules ef orthoepy imperiously demand, doubtless 
ninety-nine hundredths of those who speak our language, totally 
pervert its sound in terminations like these ; often pronouncing 
it like short u: thus, different, monument, complimwnt, govern- 



Chap. I. UNACCENTED VOWELS. 35 

mwnt, contin?mt, ardent, excellent, transhent, pashmit Although 
no stress is allowable on these terminations when un-ar.r,cnted, 
yet that is no good reason for perverting the sound of e, which 
should be pronounced here, as distinctly as in those termina- 
tions that come under the accent; as in prevent, indent, unbent, 
circumvent, and the like. 

In a large class of words beginning with pre, the unaccented 
e is apt to be suppressed. Precede, precise, predict, pretend, 
predominate, prejudicate, and the like, are often articulated as if 
written, pr-cede, pr-cise, pr-dict, pr-tend, pr-dominate, pr-judicate. 
Orthoepy cannot look with complacency even upon this errour. 

The unaccented o, in words commencing with pro, is also a 
fellow sufferer with its harmless associate e, by its often falling 
a victim to the same kind of unnatural treatment. Propose, 
pronounce, produce, prorogue, promote, and so forth, are fre- 
quently enunciated in such a manner as entirely to suppress the 
o : thus, pr-pose, pr-nounce, pr-mote, and so on. Some men, 
indeed, have no more mercy on innocent letters than if they 
were invented merely to be tortured. 

Poor e is also robbed of her just prerogative in the termina- 
tions dence, ence, nence, lense, and so forth. Why should the 
natural and rational sound dence, be exchanged for [a] dence % 
Yet we often hear residence, evidence, influence, impertinence, 
continence, silence, and the like, pronounced nearly as if writ- 
ten, residence, evidence, influence, impertinence, continence, 
sih/nce. 

But one of the grossest abuses of a vowel sound, occurs in 
changing long e, in the unaccented syllable of such words as 
the following, into e short. Natshere, featshere, creatshere, 
lectsh&re, structshere, and so forth, are commonly pronounced 
natshur, fea.tshur, creatshur, lectshur, structshur ; and by this 
barbarous perversion, articulation is plundered of one of its 
most delicate graces. There is not a more beautiful and vo- 
luptuous sound in our language, than that given forth by e, in 
such terminations, when pronounced as it should be. But words 
which are musick, and which drop like honey from the comb, 
as they issue from the lips of some men, fall, like the unwel- 
come tones of untimely guests, grating on the ear, as they make 
their exodus from the mouths of others. 

In the words theorem, theorist, melody, plethora, and many 
others, the sound of o is apt to be perverted, and changed to 
that of short e. 

A similar perversion of the sound of a, in the terminations 
ant and man, is not uncommon. The words dorma»t, infanc, 



36 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

inhabitant, adjutant, reluctant, gentleman, and so forth, are fre- 
quently pronounced as if written dormant, infant, inhabitant, 
gentleman, &c. The long a in the last syllable of landscape, 
is often improperly articulated like short i: thus, landskip. 

In the presence of orthoepy, the words plausible, visible, pos- 
sible, vivify, justify, stultify, and many other unlucky wights 
belonging to the same clan, appear with an i knocked out; out 
this excites not the least commiseration, for it is evident, that i 
lias attained this situation only by usurping the legitimate 
chrone of e : and that, although i may boldly assert his claims 
to it in the presence of orthography, yet he is ever ready to 
abdicate it when brought within the scrutinizing glance of 
orthoepy. 

RULE III. 

The sounds of the consonants, especially when 
two or three are combined, are often improperly 
slurred or suppressed. 

The sounds of the atonicks, t and final 5, for example, in 
such words as coasts, boasts, hosfc, merit particular attention 
as they are often improperly omitted. 

The clump of subtonick and atonick elements at the termin 2 
tion of such words as the following, is frequently, to the no 
small injury of articulation, particularly slighted; couhlsl 
wouldst, hadst, prob's^, prob'a 1 ^, hurl's^, hurl' dst, arm' st 
arm' cist, want's^, want 1 dst, turn's^, turn 1 dst, bark's^, barkVistf 
bubbl's£, huhhY dst, trouble, troubl'a^. 

Consonant sounds are, also, apt to be suppressed, where a 
word begins with the same sound that closed the word next pre 
ceding it; as, "For Christ's sake;" "For mercy's sake." 
aUESTIONS. 

What is the proper method to be pursued in order to correct a bad 
pronunciation 1 

Explain the errour in consequence of which some say dinks, ft'nks, 
drift, Irift, pos-ce, fores-ee, strewth, &c. instead of iAinks, ^rift, p/os-fo, 
fores-fo, strew^th, &c. 

Can you explain, by experiment, the elementary difference between 
th in thm, and th in Tuis? — Repeat Rule 2. 

Give examples both of the false and of the correct pronunciation of it 
in popular, secular, &c. of o in opacity, omega, &c. of e in esquire, e- 
sieem, — e in sullen, gospel, fallen, seven, and the like. 

Give examples both of the correct and of the incorrect pronunciation 
of e in ment, nent, dent, and the like. 

Is any stress allowable on such terminating syllables? 

Are the sounds of e in pre, o in pro, and e in dence, lence, nence, &c 
ever perverted'? — Give examples. 

What is to be observed of long u in natwre, feature, &c. ? 



Chap. I. ARTICULATION. 37 

Are the sounds of o in theorem, &c. and of a in the terminations ant, 
man. &c. ever perverted 1 — Give examples. 

Repeat Rule 3. — What is said of the consonants ts, st, dst y and so 
forth, at the termination of words'? 

EXERCISES. 

And oft false sighs sicken the silly heart. 

The man of talents struggles through difficulties severe, and 
hate* sAipidity. 

And where the finest streams througn tangled foreste steay, 

E'en there the wildest beasts steal forth upon their prey. 

Remark. — The A is not always distinctly aspirated when em- 
ployed in an alliteration : 

" Up the Aigh Aill Ae Aeaves a huge round stone." 

If these civil and useful gentry of the alphabet, are not so 
melodious in their notes as their more fortunate brethren the 
liquids, and their musical sisters the vowels, they ought not, 
therefore, to be treated with neglect. 

Examples in which an imperfect explosion of atonick elements, 
is capable of perverting the meaning. 

The severest storm that laste rill morn: ) 
The severest storm that las* still morn. ) 
He is content in either place: 
He is content in neither place. 
They weary wandered over washes and -deserts: ) 
They weary wandered over waste sand deserts. J 
She looked upon the prince without emotion: 
She looked upon the printe without emotion. 
Every publick speaker ought to prove such a statement: ) 
Every publick speaker ought to approve such a statement. J 
Whoever heard of such an ocean ? ) 
Whoever heard of such a motion % \ 

EXERCISES. 

Singular as it may appear, many persons are more partic^- 
ax in regard to the adornments of the body, than to the accom- 
plishments of the mind. 

In overcoming the obstacles of nature in order to the attain- 
ment of excellence in oratory, we sometimes witness, with pleas- 
ure, the wonderful effecte of industry and perseverance. 

The Lord has betrothed Ais church in eternal covenant to 
feimself His quickening spirit shall never depart from Aer. 
Armed with divine virtue, his gospel, secret, silent, unobserved, 
enters the hearts of men, and sets up an everlasting kingdom. 
4 



38 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

It eludes all the vigilance, and baffles all the power, of the 
adversary. Bars, and bolts, and dungeons, are no obstacles to 
its approach : honds, and tortures, and death, cannot extinguish 
its influence. Let no man despair, then, of the christian cause. 
When Ajarr strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
The line, too, labours, and the words move slow. 
That morning, thou, that slumber'ds£ not before. 
Nor sleptst, great Ocean, laidst thy waves at rest, 
And hush'dst thy mighty minstrelsey. 

Remarks. — The learner should be required to read the fore- 
going exercises over and over again, again and again, until he 
can articulate, with ease and accuracy, every vowel and every 
consonant sound in each sentence. Those letters distinguished 
by Italick characters, demand his 'particular attention : for an 
attentive observer may easily be convinced, that few readers can 
be found, who would not, in pronouncing these ten sentences, 
be guilty of more than thirty inaccuracies. 

The vowel o in the words of, for, from, and the like, is fre- 
quently perverted to that of short u ; and thus, one of the most 
melodious and grateful sounds in the language, is lost. 

One of the prominent points of articulation illustrated in these 
exercises, is the frequent recurrence of a difficult sound at the 
close of one, and at the commencement of another, word : such 
as, " effects of, such an ocean, ought to approve, wastes and 
deserts, Ajaz strives some rock's vast weight to throw ;" in which 
instances, it will be found utterly impossible to give every ele- 
ment its distinct sound without making a short pause between 
the words. In the phrase, " weighs to throw," for example, the 
atonick t in weight, cannot be fully exploded unless a pause is 
made after it. To this point, then, let the pupil particularly 
direct his attention : for the suppression and blending of sounds, 
as several of these examples clearly show, often lead to a total 
perversion of the sense. 

RUIiE IV. 

The practice of hurrying over words so as to 
precipitate syllable upon syllable, and, as it were, 
blend them together into indistinct and confused 
masses, is by no means allowable. 

The least critical listener is always dissatisfied with an indis- 
tinct speaker or reader, though, perhaps, utterly unable to point 
out his particular faults ; whilst the judicious observer has to 
complain, that letters, syllables, words, and sometimes even 
large portions of sentences, are either wholly suppressed by 



Chap. I. THE BLENDING OF SYLLABLES. 39 

him, or pronounced in so feeble and indistinct a manner as to 
confuse and perplex the mind in its attempts to apprehend their 
meaning. Under a false conceit of beauty, some speakers allow 
their voice to glide along through their sentences by attempting 
to articulate and swell only what they conceive to be the most 
prominent words, so that its course appears like that of a small 
animal passing across a field laid in ridges, alternately appear- 
ing in, and disappearing from, sight. Although the beautiful 
undulation in the motion of a bird on the wing, is highly pleas- 
ing, yet were the aerial voyager, in every descent, to sink so 
low as to elude the sight, the pleasure we derive from beholding 
his flight, would be, in a great measure, destroyed. Precisely 
in the same manner are we affected by the movements of the 
voice. We are pleased with its waving, undulating motion ; 
but, in its progress, we like (if the figure may be employed) 
always to keep in sight of it. Its descent, therefore, should never 
be so great as to render the articulation indistinct. 

The following examples may serve to illustrate Rule 4. 

EXERCISES. 

Ive not er dauvim sin se wen tin pursu tau vum. 
Ive not erdauvim sin se iventin pursutauvum. 
Ther wuza. singlur opposition beh twee niz alleged motives 
un diz conduct. 

Slowly un sadly we la dim down, 
Frum th feel dau viz fame fresh un gory. 

Offtin th lone church-yard, at nitive seen 
Th school-boy weh thiz satchel in ezand. 

Remarks. — By pronouncing these sentences with rapidity 
several times over, according to the corrupt orthography in 
which they are presented, the precise elocution of many a reader 
will be produced. After which, let any one pronounce tht 
same sentences with distinctness and energy, according to their 
correct orthography in which they subsequently appear, obser- 
ving to give every word and every letter its full and appropri- 
ate sound, and the contrast will convince him" of the magnitude 
of the errours against which he is cautioned. 

Examples. — I have not heard of him since he went in pur 
suit of them. 

There was a singular opposition between his alleged motives 
and his conduct. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
From the field of his fame fresh and gory. 
Oft in the lone church-yard, at night I've seen 
The school-boy with his satchel in his hand. 



40 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

To avoid being misunderstood, in the foregoing remarks, it 
may be proper to caution the student, against confounding his 
idea of distinct articulation, with that of emphasis, force, or 
mere loudness of sound. The tone of the voice may be very 
low, and its force upon a syllable, word, or phrase, very slight 
indeed, and, at the same time, the articulation, perfectly distinct, 
and the enunciation, quite audible. To the reader or the speak- 
er, this is a point of paramount importance. Whilst a dull uni- 
formity of force and elevation would amount to unendurable 
monotony, a succession of depressions that produce indistinct- 
ness of articulation, is worse than the torture of Tantalus. Va- 
riety, therefore, in elevation and depression, force and softness, 
quickness and slowness, should be studied; but, at the same 
time, extremes are to be avoided. 

AND. 

There is no word in the language more frequently and unj ust- 
ly trampled upon, than the poor conjunctive drudge — and. No 
slave was ever more grossly abused ; and yet, its efforts are so 
very laudable and friendly in its ever-active exertions to bring 
together and unite its erratick and less social brethren, that it 
would be extremely difficult for its enemies to hatch up the 
shadow of an apology for bestowing upon it such a succession 
of ill usages. Three times in four, perhaps, when it appears 
at its post in the path of the speaker, it is passed by with 
merely an imperfect and uncourteous nasal salute, as if it were 
some obtrusive menial, unworthy of the least regard. In ex- 
amples like the following, it is seldom half articulated. Al- 
though it is as lawfully entitled to three, distinct elementary 
sounds, as ever was an honest pronoun to its case, or a princely 
verb to its tense, yet such is the ingratitude of poor, frail, clay- 
built readers and speakers, that they think nothing of robbing 
this most faithful and respectable servant of, at least, one, if not 
two, or even two and a half, of its legitimate elements. 

Heaven and earth will witness, 
If Rome mast fall, that we are innocent. 
The Assyrian came down, like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold. 

The word and, in these and similar examples, is commonly 
pronounced as if written %nd or un, with an imperfect or par- 
tially occluded articulation of these elements ; whereas, it ought 
always to be pronounced in such a manner that each of its own 
three elementary sounds, though in their combined state, may 
distinctly appear. 



Chap. I. ARTICULATION. 41 

In pronouncing the phrase, " And his" not only the a, but the 
h, is, also, frequently suppressed, and the sound of d is combined 
with that of the i following it ; as if written thus, un diz cohorts, 
and so forth. Many would pronounce the phrase, " are inno- 
cent," in the first example, as if written, a rinesunt. This 
practice of suppressing letters, and, as it were, of melting words 
into indistinct masses, cannot be too cautiously guarded against. 

aUESTIONS. 

Repeat Rule 4. 

Is the voice ever allowed to fall so low as to render the articulation 
indistinct 1 

What is said of uniformity and of variety, in the movements of the 
voice 1 

What is said of and ? — Give examples of its false pronunciation, and, 
also, of the erroneous pronunciation of his. 

Is a distinct enunciation of terminating syllables, important to an im- 
pressive elocution 1 

EXERCISES. 

She was then young, the blessing of hex aged parents, oi 
whom she was the hope and stay — and happiness shone bright- 
ly over her. Her life was all sunshine. Time for Aer had 
trod only on flowers : and if the visions which endear, and dec- 
orate, and hallow home, were vanished for ever, still did she re- 
sign tAem for the sacred name of wife and the sworn affection 
of a royal husband, and the allegiance of a glorious and gallant 
people. 

But unto the Son, in a style which annihilates competition 
and comparison, unto the Son he saith, thy throne, O, God, is 
for ever and ever. 

Sleep, the type of death, is, also, like that which it typifies, 
restricted to the earth. It flies from hell, and is excluded from 
heaven. 

Between two worlds life hovers like a star 
'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. 

Chillon, the favourite and the flower, 
"Most cherished since his natal hour. 
His mother's image in Ais face, 
The infant love of all his race. — 

For me the mine a thousand treasures brings ; 
For me health gushes from a thousand springs; 
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise ; 
My footstool, earth, my canopy, the skies. 

Remarks. — These examples abound with little words, such 
as the, and, for, from, to, his, her, and the like, and are selected 
4* 



42 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

for the express purpose of enabling the student, by strict atten- 
tion to a distinct articulation of them, to avoid, in future, the 
too common errour of slurring- over such' words, and especially 
the vowel o, and other letters italicised — the chief source of that 
enormous transgression of the laws of elocution and common 
sense, by which many a reader blends words together in such a 
manner as to present them in the lump. An elegant and im- 
pressive elocution depends greatly on a distinct and appropriate 
enunciation of terminating syllables and small words. Although 
bo great a force must not be given to them as to the larger and 
more important words, yet they require a clear and distinct ar- 
ticulation ; for, without this, not only the beauty and harmony of 
the language, but even its meaning, are either greatly obscured 
or wholly destroyed. Who can peruse, with satisfaction, a let- 
ter written in villanous, unreadable characters, or a book with 
many of its pages torn out, and others mutilated, or a newspaper 
with its columns mackled, monked, and friared? And yet, far 
more disagreeable is it to one to listen to a speaker or a reader 
who, by rising and falling, and quavering, and trilling, and 
mincing, and purring and swelling, and slurring and suppressing 
sounds, presents you his own or his author's sentiments in so 
mangled and mutilated a condition, that one is puzzled to under 
stand one half of that which he utters. 

The meaning perverted by the blending of syllables. 

DIALOGUE. 

Teacher. What book have you there? 
Pupil. A Redermadeze. 
T. What do you say ? 
P. A Redermadeze, Sir. 

T A Redermadeze ! bring it here, Sir. — O, ho ! " A Reader 
made easy. 1 

RULE V. 

The practice of hissing, lisping, whispering, 
mincing, slurring, or drawling, abridging, mum- 
bling, or mouthing the sounds of letters or sylla- 
bles, derogates materially from an elegant and an 
accurate enunciation. 

RULE VI. 

An affected pronunciation of syllables and 
words, should be carefully avoided. 



Chap. I. ARTICULATION. 43 

Our best orthoepists have indicated, in their directions for 
Denouncing the vowels a and e in such words as fore, rare, 
\-yhere, there, their, air, chair, prayer, compare, declare, insnare, 
and the like, that the same sound should be given to them as to 
long a in fate, late; but this direction is either wrong, or not 
generally understood, and has, consequently, betrayed some into 
an affected pronunciation of such words — a pronunciation which 
must be disgusting to every one of correct taste in elocution. 
Whether such directions are the offspring of inattention on the 
part of orthoepists, or whether they have arisen out of the diffi- 
culties which trammel them in representing to the eye, merely 
by the use of arbitrary characters, all the nice shades of differ- 
ence in the sounds given to letters, is, to the student, a matter of 
little moment ; but of vast importance is it to him who would 
become an accomplished reader or speaker, not to be led astray 
by the false or imperfect directions of authors. There is nothing 
that can expose one's reputation for accuracy and elegance in 
delivery to greater hazards, than affectation in his pronuncia 
tion. Affectation in women, is sickening ; in men, insufferable ; 
therefore, all kinds of affectation should be avoided. 

Whose conception of natural sounds is so obtuse as not to 
perceive a marked difference in the sound commonly given to 
a in fate, and to the more open one of a in fare, e in there, their, 
a in chair, prayer, compare, and so forth ? If it is a fact, then, 
that this difference of sound is ordinarily made, the point is 
easily settled : for the sounds " commonly given" to letters in 
particular situations, (I mean, of course, sounds given, not only 
by the common people, but also by the educated,) are the cor- 
rect ones. 

Primarily, a particular, graphick character, called in our 
language, a letter, is no more the legitimate representative of a 
particular sound, than is a pebble, or a blossom, or a silk thread. 
How is it, then, that letters become the' representatives of par- 
ticular sounds ? Only by the general consent of those who adopt 
and employ them, just as particular sounds and combinations of 
sounds, called words, become the representatives of certain ideas. 
Hence we see, that the general practice of those who employ 
certain letters, to represent particular, vocal sounds, is the only 
standard of accuracy in the use of those letters for such pur- 
poses, and, also, that the same authority is paramount in the use 
of words : and hence we perceive, too, that it is beyond the 
province of the orthoepist to dictate in regard to the sounds that 
may, or may not, be given to particular letters, as well as to the 
grammarian, in regard to the use of words. No ; the authority 



44 ESSAY ON ELOCtTION. 

of each is bound down by the superiour authority of general 
usage : and from this last authority, there is no appeal. It is 
true, the province of each allows him to ascertain what good 
usage is, and to inculcate principles according to it, and to the 
analogies and idioms of the language as far as sanctioned by 
good usage ; and, moreover, to point out bad usages, that is, 
such as are not adopted by a great majority of the most intel- 
ligent and the most learned ; but farther than this, he cannot, 
legally, go. 

In pronouncing the words, jail, pail, sail, pray, lay, say, we 
give to the vowel a precisely the sound of long a in fate ; but 
an attentive observer will readily perceive, that the sound of 
this vowel is different, and becomes more open, and less pro 
longed, in air, chair, stair, prayer, and the like, when these 
words are pronounced in a natural manner. If this is a true 
statement of the case, this different sound commonly given to a 
in fare, air, and so forth, is the correct one; and the attempt to 
give the long sound of a, as in fate, to a in prayer, air, fare, 
rare, compare, to e in there, and the like, is affected and erro- 
neous. 

There is, also, a more distressing affectation displayed by 
many who, in the pronunciation of perfect, person, mercy, inter- 
pret, determine, and the like, attempt to give the accented e the 
sound of e in imperative. It is difficult to describe the affected 
sound alluded to ; but that it is not the same as e in met, as 
Walker has directed that it should be, and that it is a shocking 
outrage on good taste and common sense, are facts equally ap- 
parent. The sound of e, when exploded in such words, ought 
to approach as near to that of e in imperative as is possible, 
without betraying the affected sound alluded to. 

Another affected pronunciation of a vowel sound, which is 
very common among the clergy of New England and New 
York, deserves the most marked reprehension, as it is too sick- 
ening to be endured by civilized beings. I allude to the sound 
frequently given to a in heart, part, smart and so forth. In- 
stead of giving a, in words of this class, its correct sound, as 
heard in far, bar, par, they attempt to sound it somewhat like e 
in imperative. 

But there is another affectation in exploding the diphthongal 
sounds of y in sk?/, i in kind, ui in guide, ua in guard, and the 
like, which is far more common than the last two referred to, 
and but little less nauseating. Under a false view of elegance, 
many pronounce these words as if written ske-i, ke-znd, ge-ide 
ge-ard. This is abominable, and a total perversion of the sounds 



Chap. I. ARTICULATION. 45 

intended to be described and recommended by Mr. Walker. 
The diphthongal sounds of y, i, ui, and ua, in such words, are 
not represented by ei and ea when separately pronounced, bij 
when united and blended, as it were, into one sound. Hence, 
the common people, who know nothing of the diphthongal char- 
acter of these sounds, nor of Walker's directions concerning 
them, generally pronounce such words correctly, and as Mr. 
Walker intended they should be pronounced. 

The y in my, when emphatical by being contrasted with some 
other possessive pronoun, is pronounced like longi; but when 
not emphatical, it may take the sound of short e, as in met. 
To give i in wind, its long sound, as in mind, and on in ipour, 
its legitimate sound, as in our, appears, in prose, a little affected, 
because they are generally pronounced wind and pore, but 
when these words rhyme with others, at the end of a line in 
poetry, it is strictly in accordance with good taste, to give i its 
long, and ou its diphthongal, sound. 

" For, as in bodies, thus in souls, we find 
• What wants in blood and spirits, swelled with wind." 

" Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour, 
" And in soft silence shed the kindly shower." 

A strange perversion of the sounds of t and d is sometimes 
made in words like the following : duty, produce, fortitude ; 
which are not unfrequently pronounced j/'uty, produce, fortitude, 
ingratitude. 

Under a false conceit of cleverness and elegance, some are in 
the habit of giving the vowel a, in the words glass, pass, mass, 
brass, flaunt, &c. demand, command, and the like, a flat 
sound, somewhere between that of a in hat (its proper sound in 
the first class of these words) and o in note. 

Another disagreeable perversion often occurs in pronouncing 
*he termination ed as a separate syllable in those verbs in which 
it ought to be contracted ; such as w&Yk-ed, t&Yk-ed, lov-ed, 
smil-ed, and the like ; but, in the participial adjective, where 
the ed should be sounded, it is frequently contracted : thus, " A 
.earn-ed man ;" " The bless-eo' Redeemer ;" are often pronounced, 
"A learn' d man ;" " The bless' a 1 Redeemer." 

But a more important caution is to be given in regard to the 
pronunciation of the unaccented vowels e and a in such termi- 
nations as ment, nent, dent, lent, cent — ence, nence, dence — 
ant, nant, vaiit, man — lar, lance, and so forth. Although these 
vowels should have their distinct, natural sounds in such words 
as commandment, ardent, innocent, influence, confidence, infant, 



46 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

covenant, servant, gentleman, secular, vigilance, and the like, 
yet the slightest stress laid upon them, or the least effort to ex 
plode their sounds in a very distinct manner in this situation, 
will cause the pronunciation of these terminating syllables to 
appear affected. Care should, therefore, betaken to pronounce 
them in a perfectly easy and natural manner. 

QUESTIONS. 

Repeat Rale 5. — Repeat Rule 6. 

Should a and e in fore, there, air, &c. be pronounced like a in late 1— 
Illustrate the difference between the two sounds. 

What is said of affectation in delivery 1 

What is the standard of accuracy in the use o fletters and words'? 

Is theie any appeal from this standard authority 1 

What is said of the affected sounds of e in person, mercy, &c. 1 

What is said of the affected sound of a in heart, smart, &c. — of y in 
sky, i in kind, ui in guide, &c. — of y in my, and of i in wind, and ou in 
pour 1 

What is said of affectation in the pronunciation of the letters t and d 
in duty, fortitude, and the like 1 

What more is said of affectation in the pronunciation of words 1 

EXERCISES. 

Prayer is an offering up of the desires and petitions of the 
heart. 

From thy throne in the sky, thou look's^, and laugh' s£ at the 
storm, and guid's£ the bolt of Jove. 

Kind friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up to any 
sudden flood o[ mutiny and rage. 

Bias used to say, that it was in vain to expect an entire ex- 
emption from misfortunes by guarding against them; and that 
that man was unfortunate indeed who had not the fortitude to 
bear up against those which had befallen him.. 

A tart temper never mellows with age ; and a sharp tongue 
is the only edgetool that grows keener by constant use. 

The hidden ocean showed itself anew, 
And barren wastes still stole upon the view. 

The flag of/reedom/loats once more 
Around the lofty Parthenon ; 

It waves as waved the palm of yore, 
In days departed long and gone. 
Twas twilight, for the sunless day went down 

Over the waste o{ waters, like a veil, 
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown 

Of one who }f\tes us ; so the night was shown, 
And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, 

And hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone 
Gazed dim and desolate : twelve days had fear 
Been their familiar : and now . . .death was here! 



Chap. I. IMPORTANCE OF ARTICULATION. 4? 

****** 
There was no light in heaven but a few stars ; 
The boats put offo'ercrowded with their crews: 
Our ship then gave a heel— a lurch to port, 
And, going down head for enu'tf— sunk, in short. 

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell ; 

Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave ; 
Then some leaped overboard, with dreadful yell, 

As eager to anticipate their grave : 
And the sea yawned around Aer " in its swell," 

And down she sucked with Aer the whirling wave, 
Like one who grapples wiTH Ais enemy, 

And strives to strangle Aim before Ae dies. 

And first one universal shriek there rushed, 

Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
Of echoing thunder ; and then ... all was hushed, 

Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash 
Of billows : but at intervals there gushed, 

Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
Of some strong swimmer in Ais agony. 

Remarks. — In these examples, those letters most liable to an 
indistinct or perverted articulation, are designated by Italick 
characters. However imperfect such helps may be, it is hoped 
that they will afford some assistance to the ambitious student, 
and serve to direct the attention of the teacher to this particular 
subject: and to both teacher and learner, the author begs leave 
to suggest the propriety of frequently referring the corrections 
made in reading the exercises, back to the principles that are 
violated. 

The unpractised student may deem a scientifick and an ana- 
lytical development of the elementary principles of vocal sounds, 
a procedure more curious than useful ; but so erroneous would 
such a conclusion be, that, on the contrary, he ought to consid- 
er investigations of this description, of paramount importance 
in the study of elocution. These elementary principles form 
the only proper basis of the science ; and the want of a knowl- 
edge of them, is the principal cause of multitudinous errours in 
reading and speaking. It is, therefore, incumbent on him who 
would excel in the science of elocution, to obtain a perfect mas- 
tery over' these elementary and primary principles, before he 
proceeds to general reading: — and of the truth of these remarks, 
the author trusts that enough has been displayed in the forego- 
ing, imperfect development of the subject now under considera- 
tion, to convince even the most skeptical. 



48 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION, 

RULES VII. 

The practice of miscalling ivords, is a trans- 
gression altogether inadmissible. 

The besetting sin of careless readers alluded to in this Rule, 
is an abomination altogether unendurable. In a child, it is in- 
excusable : in an adult, disgraceful. 

The following examples are sufficient to show, that the mis- 
calling of words, is not only capable of perverting the meaning 
of a passage, but, sometimes, of giving it a meaning altogether 
ludicrous. 

EXAMPLES. 

Correct Reading. — Lysimachus, the governour of Alexander, 
Deing an austere man, and a near relative of Olympias, inured 
his pupil to hardy habits, which invigorated his constitution. 

False Reading. — Lysimachus, the governour of Alexander, 
being an auster man, and a near relative of Olympias, &c. 

Correct. — And the Lord smote Abijah the Hittite that he died. 

False. — And the Lord smote Abijah Hi-te-ti-te that he died. 

Correct. — And the Lord smote Job with sore boils. 

False. — And the Lord shot Job with four balls. 

RULE VIII. 

A distinct articulation is greatly promoted by 
prot7*acting all such vowel sounds as will admit 
of it. 

A full, bold explosion, and lengthening out of the tonick ele 
ments, especially the long tonicks, add greatly to expression in 
delivery, and are absolutely necessary to the proper application 
of emphatick force. The reader or speaker should be very 
particular, therefore, to protract the vowel sounds, and make the 
most of them he possibly can, without doing violence to the laws 
of propriety. This subject is again referred to under the head 
of Time Page 129. 

QUESTIONS. 

Please to repeat Rule 7th, and read the examples which fol.bw it. 

Repeat Rule 8th. 

What adds to expression in delivery T 

Please to read the exercises under Rule 8th, and point oil some 01 
the tonick elements which admit of lengthening. 

Do any of the subtonick elements admit of protraction "? 

EXERCISES. 

In the following exercises, those vowels whose sounds ought to DC 
protracted, are distinguished thus : a, e, i, o, u. 



Chap. I. IMPORTANCE OF ARTICULATION. 49 

There are but very few who know how to be idle and innocent. 

A man of a refined imagination, is let into a great manv 
pleasures which the vulgar are not capable of receiving. 

A beautiful prospect delights the soul as much as a demon- 
stration ; and a description in Homer has charmed more read- 
ers than a chapter in Aristotle. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 
Or, like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white— then melt forever; 
Or, like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point the place; 
Or, like the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishing amid the storm. 

He spoke ; and awful bends his sable brows, 

Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod; 

The stamp of fate, the Sanction of a God ; 

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, 

And all Olympus to its centre shook. 

Oh, unexpected stroke, worse than of death ! 

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise 1 Thus leave 

Thee, native soil ? these happy walks and shades, 

Fir haunt of gods ; where I had hoped to spend 

Cuiet, though sad, the respite of that day 

Which must be mortal to us both 1 Oh, flowers 

That never will in other climate grow, 

My early visitation, and my last 

At even, which I bred up with tender hand 

From your first opening buds, and gave you names; 

Who now shall rear you to the sun, or rank 

Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount'? 

Remark. — In reading the foregoing examples, it will be 
observed, that not only the to?iick, but, also, the subtonick, ele- 
ments frequently admit of protraction. 

IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD ARTICULATION 

The prescribed limits of this Essay, render it impracticable 
to pursue, to any great extent, investigations on this branch of 
elocution. If enough has been presented to arrest the attention 
of the learner, and excite in him a spirit of inquiry, the design 
of the writer is accomplished : but he is unwilling to take leave 
of this subject without laying before the reader a few more con- 
siderations that may urge him to push his investigations in this 
department by his own individual efforts, and by an attentive 
perusal (if he can procure them) of " The Philosophy of the 
Human Voice" by Dx, Rush, and of Dr. Barber's " Grammar 
of Elocution.'' 

That a clear, full, and distinct utterance of syllables and 



50 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

words, is of vastly more importance than any and every otkef 
good quality of utterance, any one may readily convince himself, 
^y attentively observing a few of our best, and of our worst, 
speakers and readers. 

What was that mighty charm by which the late John Ran- 
dolph bound the senses, and seized the passions, of his auditors ? 
As far as his manner of delivery was concerned, it must doubt- 
less be obvious to every one that ever listened to him, that the 
grand secret of his masterly power in oratory, lay in the dis- 
tinctness of his articulation. The same may be said of our 
Durbin : and, indeed, with him this appears to be, not only the 
primary, but the principal, ingredient of that eloquence by 
which he lays hold of the sympathies, and, as it were, with a 
Timothean power, takes the hearts of his hearers captive at his 
will, and transports them to the haven of bliss. 

In farther confirmation of what I would enforce, I might cite 
the example of Henry Clay, of Daniel Webster, of William 
Wirt, of Alexander Hamilton, of Fisher Ames, of Henry Bas- 
com, of John M. Duncan, of Alexander McClelland — of a 
Summerfield, a Mason, and even a Master Burke, together with 
a hundred other master spirits whose glowing geniuses adorn, 
or have adorned, our western hemisphere. But the citation 
would be gratuitous. No one has any thing more to do, than 
to open the eyes of his understanding, to look, observe, and 
BE CONVINCED. Let conviction, then, lead to attention 
and practice. To young gentlemen, especially, who are just 
launching their bark upon the waves of a professional life, this 
appeal should be irresistible. 

Who ever listened with rapture, or even delight, to a reader 
or a speaker, whose articulation was indistinct ? The thing is 
impossible — an absurdity — a mockery, which tramples upon 
the philosophy of the human voice, and the elementary princi- 
ples of human nature. 

The first example cited, is, moreover, a remarkable instance 
of the wonderful effects of industry and perseverance in over- 
coming the obstacles of nature in order to the attainment of ex- 
cellence in oratory ; for who, unless it was Demosthenes him- 
self, (whose voice was by no means similar,) ever possessed, 
naturally, a more disagreeable, uncouth, piping, creaking voice, 
than John Randolph of Roanoke ? And yet, whose voice, by 
cultivatior , ever became so alluring, so fascinating, as his ? It 
fell on the ear like a soft strain of musick, and haunted the 
hearer like the spell of an enchantress, or the soft murmur of a 
distant waterfall. And the second example is no less remark- 



Chap. I. IMPORTANCE OF ARTICULATION. 51 

able in showing what a bewitching charm — what a mighty 
power may be wielded, by a voice naturally fine and feeble. 

These examples are, also, both instructive, as evincing thf 
importance of a reader or a speaker's adhering to the ?iaturai 
tones of his voice, be they, at first, ever so peculiar, disagreea- 
ble, or unpromising. Although natural tones may be softened 
down and attuned by cultivation, yet they must never be ex- 
changed for artificial ones; for the same holds true with the 
voice, as with the sentiments, of an orator : both must be real, 
and his own, or they will be rejected by his auditors, on whom 
it is impossible to palm counterfeit ware. These examples 
should also excite emulation in others. If, when labouring 
under so great disadvantages, men have, by dint of application, 
and attention to distinctness of articulation, attained such lefty 
heights of excellence in the field of eloquence, what encourage- 
ments are not held forth to those whose voices are naturally 
strong and melodious ! 

Let no one plead, that, because a good articulation is gener- 
ally neglected, it, therefore, becomes a matter of litcie moment. 
It is a paltry trick of sophistry to bring forward the faults of 
others for the purpose of extenuating our own misdeeds. This 
mischievous delusion must always result disadvantageously to 
him who adopts it. No malefactor ever found tne halter less 
severe on account of the numerous victims which the gallows 
claims. 

It is a great mistake to suppose, that, in order to fill an ex- 
tensive space, so as to be clearly understood by the most distant 
hearer, a reader or a speaker must necessarily raise the pitch, 
and increase the volume and force, of his voice. Who has not 
observed, that partially deaf persons much more readily appre- 
hend what is said to them in a clear, moderate tone of voice 
that is perfectly distinct, than what is uttered in a loud tone, 
and in a rapid and indistinct manner ? Of course, the same 
holds true in addressing an audience or an individual whose 
sense of hearing is not impaired: and it is not a little singular, 
that a consideration so important to publick speakers, is, by 
them, so generally disregarded. If they would only reflect, 
that the clear and distinct enunciation even of a feeble voice, is 
far more efficacious than the boisterous precipitancy of a strong 
one, it is apparent, that, at the bar, in the sacred desk, in our 
legislative halls, and elsewhere, we should have more . . 
speaking, and less . . . bawling. With distinctness, the sing- 
song whine of the most canting speaker, does more execution 
than the voLe of a Stentor without it. Although a fluent, and 



52 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

even a rapid, flow of words, where the sentiments uttered, ren 
der it proper, is often advantageously adopted by a reader or 
a speaker, yet his fluency should never be permitted to en- 
croach upon a distinct articulation. 

We readily understand, then, why the ancients regarded ar- 
ticulation as the primary requisite in delivery. This grand 
quality being overlooked, all other acquisitions in oratory will 
prove unavailing, or, in other words, will fall short of their ob- 
ject, just in proportion to the neglect with which articulation is 
treated. 

The persevering efforts of Demosthenes, who, in order to 
correct his faults in articulation, betook himself to speaking 
with pebbles in his mouth, also when undergoing the labour of 
walking up hill, and likewise amid the roar of dashing waves, 
are as familiar to every one as an ordinary nursery tale — and 
about as much regarded ! But it would be doing great injus- 
tice to that illustrious orator, to bring his genius down to the 
same level with his who should, in our day, by the cultivation 
of his vocal powers, attain the same height in eloquence that 
he did. The modern candidate for oratorical fame, stands on 
very different, and far more advantageous, ground, than that 
occupied by the young and aspiring Athenian — especially 
since a correct analysis of the vocal organs, and a faithful rec- 
ord of their operations, have been given to the world by Dr. 
James Rush of Philadelphia — a name that will outlive the 
unquarried marble of our mountains. In his " Philosophy of 
the Human Voice," this branch of learning is, for the first 
time, reduced to a science, and established upon the unbending 
principles of an inductive philosophy. By the lights of sci- 
ence, then, which shone not upon the ancients, may the modern 
votary of Hermes be guided on his way to the temple of fame 

QUESTIONS. 

How may one convince himself of the beauty and importance of a 
clear and distinct articulation 7 

What speakers can you name as illustrative of it 1 

Which of these are remarkable for their perseverance in overcoming, 
by oratorical culture, the obstacles of nature'? 

Are artificial tones or sentiments admissible in a speaker ? 

Tn order to fill a large space with the voice, is it requisite to raise its 
pitch, or increase its volume and force"? 

What, then, is requisite 1 — (a distinct articulation.) 

Can you prove this by a reference to deaf persons 1 

What, did the ancients regard as the primary requisite in delivery 1 

To what practices had Demosthenes recourse, in order to overcome 
his impediments of speech 1 



CHAPTER II 



OF TONES AND MODULATION. 

The word Tones, in its most comprehensive 
sense, denotes the whole range of perfect sounds 
which are produced, either by man, the inferiour 
animals, or musical instruments : but, in a rhetori- 
cal sense, 

Tones consist in the various sounds of the voice 
in its ascent from a low to a high pitch, or in its 
descent from a high to a low one. 

Modulation denotes the variations of the tones 
in their ascending and descending progressions 
from one note to another. 

To the wisdom and goodness of his Creator, man is indebted 
for that peculiar endowment called the power of speech. In 
order that he may be enabled to exert this faculty to the great- 
est advantage in effecting all its important purposes, the same 
divine wisdom and goodness have been displayed, in bestowing 
upon him those peculiar and various tones of voice which consti- 
tute another characteristical feature of that pre-eminence which 
he holds over the rest of the animal world. All animals, it is 
true, express their various feelings by peculiar tones ; but those 
possessed by man, are the more delicate, melodious, and com 
prehensive, in proportion to the elevation of his rank in the 
scale of being. There is not an act of his mind, an exertion oi 
his fancy, nor an emotion of his heart, which cannot be express- 
ed in a manner exactly suited to the degree of his internal feel- 
ing. Hence, it is chiefly in the correct and appropriate use of 
these tones, that the life/the spirit, the beauty, and the harmony 
of delivery consist. 

TONES. 

A scientifick analysis of the speaking voice, may, perhaps, 
be facilitated, by borrowing, under this head, the terms a^r'ted 
5* 



54 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

in musick. The notes or variations of tone within the compass 
of the voice in reading and speaking, are the same in number 
as those employed in singing. 

The Natural or Diatonick Scale consists in 
a succession of eight sounds either in an ascend- 
ing or a descending progression. 

The eighth sound or note in the scale, is called an Octave. 
The diatonick scale consists of Jive tones and two semitones. 
The distinction between the terms Note and Tone should be 
carefully observed. 

A Note consists in a sound produced at any 
point or place in the.scale, considered without ref- 
erence either to its rise or fall. 

A Tone consists in the rise or fall of the voice 
from one point in the scale to another, except the 
spaces between the third and fourth, seventh and 
eighth, places, which are occupied by semitones. 

A Semitone consists in the rise or fall of the 
voice through a space in the scale half as great as 
that taken up by a tone. 

.The semitone is employed in the language of love, tender- 
ness, petition, complaint, and doubtful supplication. 

If the words eyes and cruel, in the following example, be 
pronounced in a plaintive manner, they will be uttered in 
a semitone : " Put out my eyes ! It is too cruel" 

A Monotone consists in the pronunciation of 
several syllables in an unvaried tone ; that is, 
without that variety of tones which constitutes 
modulation. 

If, in reading the annexed example, the words poor and old 
be pronounced in a plaintive tone, and each with a sameness of 
sound corresponding with that of the other, it will illustrate 
both the semitone and the monotone: 

" Pity the sorrows of a poor old man." 

It is possible to utter in a monotone, any succession of let- 
ters, syllables, or words, even to an indefinite extent; but the 
laws of melody require the monotone to be but sparingly em- 
ployed. 



Chap. II. OF TONES AND MODULATION. 55 

Interval. The distance between any two 
points or places in the scale, is called an Interval. 

The intervals of the scale are numerically designated by in- 
cluding both of the extremes : thus, when a sound ascends or 
descends from the first place in the scale to the second, or from 
the second place to the first — from the second to the third, or 
from the third to the second, it is said to pass through the inter- 
val of a. second; when it passes from the first place to the third, 
or from the third to the fifth, and so forth, it is said to pass 
through the interval of a third ; and when it passes from the 
first to the fifth place, or from the fourth to the eighth, through 
the interval of a. fifth: and so of the rest. 

The Qualities or Kinds of voice are distin- 
guished by the terms, rough, smooth, full, harsh, 
soft, slender, and so forth. 

Abruptness, as applied to the voice, denotes a 
sudden and full discharge of sound, as contradis- 
tinguished from its more gradual emission. 

This abruptness of sound is well exemplified by the explosive 
notes of a bassoon, and some other wind instruments. 

PITCH. 

Pitch denotes the place in the musical scale, of 
the sound or note we strike. 

The upward and down ward movements of the voice as it passes 
through the various intervals of the diatonick scale, are either 
concrete or discrete. 

When the slide of the voice consists of one con- 
tinuous, uninterrupted stream of sound, it is called 
a concrete sound; but when the stream of sound 
is not continuous, that is, is interrupted in its de- 
scent or ascent by breaks, it is called a discrete 
sound or movement. 

RADICAL, CONCRETE, AND DISCRETE PITCH. 

By pronouncing a vowel or a syllable, such as a, o, or name, 
for example, with distinctness and fulness at the opening, it will 
be perceived, if the sound be protracted, that the volume of voice 
lessens during its slide, and that it passes off in a delicate ^an- 



56 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

ish until it terminates at the point where sound and silence seem 
to meet. These slides of the voice are either upward or down- 
ward, so that, as the voice moves along from syllable to syllable, 
its relative pitch, or place in the scale, is, of course, continually 
changing, except when it advances in a monotone. 

This difference, or change in the position of the voice, is in- 
dicated by Dr. Rush, by calling the pitch on which a syllable or 
word begins, in comparison with the pitch where it terminates, 
cr of other, succeeding syllables, the Radical Pitch, in order 
to distinguish it from the place or pitch at which the voice ar- 
rives by its respective concrete or discrete movements; and this 
last-named place of the voice, or point in the scale, is denoted, 
relatively, either its Concrete or Discrete Pitch. 

Every one must have observed, that he can pitch his voice 
almost any where in the scale he chooses. If, in pronouncing 
the letter o, a, or i, or the word lay, dote, or time, any one begin 
by opening the radical on a very low note, and then continue to 
repeat the same, by commencing one note higher, and then an- 
other note higher, and so on, running it up the scale as high as 
he can conveniently go, and then down again, in the same man- 
ner that we "raise and fall the eight notes" in musick, (only 
with the difference that he should not sing the letter or word,) 
he may readily convince himself of the variety and compass of 
the voice, in regard to pitch, which may be employed in reading 
and speaking. Similar experiments may also be made in pro- 
nouncing the following line, or, indeed, any other one. 

" At the close of the day when the hamlet is still" — 

In pronouncing this line, it may be. proper to observe, the voice 
should not be permitted to fall at its close, but it should be sus- 
pended with the rising vanish, exactly as if something more 
were intended to be added in order to complete the sense. 

In reading or speaking to a small audience in a small room, 
that pitch of the voice should generally be adopted which we 
employ in ordinary conversation. This pitch being the most 
natural, it will render our delivery the most easy to ourselves, 
and the most agreeable to the hearer. In addressing a large 
audience, it is proper generally to commence with the same or- 
dinary pitch ; but, as we advance, (especially in delivering our 
own sentiments,) we naturally increase the force of our voice, 
and allow it to slide into a higher tone; and if we become im- 
passioned, and earnestly vehement, we do not "o'erstep the mod- 
esty of nature" by raising our key-note several tones above the 
one on which we commenced. Of the correctness of this re- 



Chap II. OF TONES AND MODULATION. 57 

mark, any one may satisfy himself by observing- the elevation 
of tone assumed by persons speaking under the excitement of 
the stronger passions. 

Reading being " a correct and beautiful picture of speaking," 
those rules which instruct us in the latter, may, in general, be 
properly applied to the former. To this position it has been 
objected, that, "when reading becomes strictly imitative, it as- 
sumes a theatrical manner, becomes improper, and gives offence 
to the hearer." To the author, this objection does riot appear 
to be valid. To say that reading, by becoming " strictly imita- 
tive of speaking, assumes a theatrical manner," is no less than 
saying, that speaking is performed in a theatrical manner. 
This may sometimes be the case ; but it is hoped that the day 
is remote, in which it will generally be so, for nothing, it is 
conceived, can be more directly opposed to genuine oratory, 
than a theatrical manner of speaking. To the author, how- 
ever, it has always been a matter of astonishment, that players 
do not cultivate a manner of speaking less " theatrical ;" for he 
has observed, that those rare geniuses among them who are 
looked up to as paragons of excellence, are invariably less the- 
atrical, and more natural, in their elocution, than players of 
ordinary talents. He has also observed the same thing in ora- 
tors. The greatest orators he has ever heard, are the most 
NATURAL speakers. 

The same remark may likewise be extended to singers. 
There is a wide difference between cultivating the native pow- 
ers, and perverting them, although the latter often passes cur 
rently for the former. If these observations are correct, a hint 
may be drawn from them, worthy the attention, not only of the 
player, but also of the preacher, the lawyer, the legislator, and 
all others who wish to improve their oratorical or their vocal 
powers. 

In delivering his own sentiments, a speaker may justly be 
more vivid and animated than in uttering the sentiments of 
others. Hence, a greater degree of delicacy and moderation 
is necessary in reading than in speaking. Care should be 
*:aken, however, that this consideration do not lead the reader 
into the fatal errour of becoming too tame. A lifeless, indiffer- 
ent, or cold, formal manner, should be assiduously avoided. The 
animation, the earnestness, of the reader, ought nearly to equal 
that of the publick speaker. 



58 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



TONES GENERAL RULE, 

The following rule for the management of those tones that 
indicate the stronger passions and emotions, is deemed worthy 
Jie attention of every discipfe in elocution: "In reading, let 
your tones of expression be borrowed from those of common 
speech, but, in some degree, more faintly characterized. Let 
those tones which denote any disagreeable passion of the mind, 
be still more faint than those which indicate agreeable emotions : 
and, on all occasions, preserve yourself from being so far affect- 
ed with the subject, as to be unable to proceed through it, in that 
easy and masterly manner which has its* good effects in this, as 
well as in every other art." 

MODULATION. 

The great redeeming quality w T ith some readers and speak- 
ers whose articulation is, by no means, remarkable for distinct- 
ness, and whose enunciation, in many other respects, is faulty, 
consists in the agreeable variety and beautiful modulation of the 
tones of their voice. Indeed, many a speaker passes with the 
multitude for an orator, w T hose sole dependance for popularity 
and favour in his art, rests on the power and melody of his 
tones, and the agreeableness of his modulations ; for he well 
knows, that the great majority of hearers, are better judges of 
pleasing sounds, than they are of profound sentiments, and that 
they are willing to forego the advantages of the latter, for the 
gratifying indulgence of the former. But those who wish to 
persuade, to move — to convince the understanding and to affect 
the heart, will aim at something higher than merely the dealing 
out of harmonious sounds. However these may gratify the ear, 
yet on them alone the mind would starve. Harmonious and 
agreeable sounds should, therefore, be held by the reader or 
speaker, in the subordinate rank which a judicious taste assigns 
to ornaments in dress — as the mere appendages, not the body, 
of the garment. 

An agreeable modulation, and a pleasing variety of intona- 
tion, are, however, by no means to be regarded as unworthy of 
attention. Their importance has already been illustrated, by 
showing, that, with some, they are the very quintessence of 
what passes for oratory. This being the case, then, we may 
readily conceive their happy effects when employed even by 
readers and speakers who are otherwise liberally endowed with 
the higher qualities of eloquence. 



Chap. II. OF TONES AND MODULATION. 59 

GENERAL RULE. 

The best general rule that can be given for a skilful man- 
agement and modulation of the tones of the voice, is to cultivate 
and adopt an agreeable variety, such as we know to be pleasing 
to others. 

The author is aware that this rule is of too general a char- 
acter to be of much utility to those whose taste in elocution is 
but a little cultivated, or whose apprehension of what is elegant 
or excellent, and of what is otherwise, is not very quick ; but, 
in the subsequent pages of this work, many definite principles 
will be developed, which have a direct bearing upon this 
subject. 

EXERCISES. 

The great variety of elevation and depression of tone in 
which it is proper to pronounce different kinds of composition, 
depends mainly on the sentiments expressed: and there are few 
whose conception and taste are so obtuse as not to be regulated, 
in their enunciation, in some good degree, by this governing 
principle. 

The following example from Byron, presents a great variety 
of elevation and depression of tone 

But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell • 

Did ye not hear it 1 — No ; 'twas but the wind, 

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street . 

On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 

But hark ! — That heavy sound breaks in once more, 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 
Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannons' opening roar ! 

Remark. — No one can be at a loss to perceive that the 
commencing words of this passage, "hush! hark!" should be 
pronounced in a low tone approaching a whisper ; and the res- 
idue of the same line, in a deep, low tone of earnest pathos, a 
little higher than the preceding, but not quite so elevated as the 
interrogatory which follows it. The line and a half which 
answer the question, require a light, joyous tone, considerably 
elevated above that in which the interrogation is expressed. In 
the Dhrase, "On with the dance !" the voice breaks forth witn 
a sudden abruptness, and in quite an elevated tone ; but falls a 
little, again, on the two and a half lines which follow. And 
again the voice falls very low at "hark!" and rises very 
greatly again, and successively, on each of the words " nearer, 



60 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

clearer, deadlier ;" until, as it approaches the word " Arm !" 
it breaks forth in its most energetick, impassioned, and highest 
stra in. 

In general, the tones and modulations of the voice, except 
when influenced by the principles of inflection and emphasis, 
are to be regulated by an exercise of good taste, which may 
ordinarily be acquired by an attentive observance of the man- 
ner adopted by those who excel in elocution, and by private ap- 
plication. 

QUESTIONS. , 

Of what does chapter 2nd treat 1 

What is meant by tones 1 — What, by modulation 1 

Are the peculiar beauty and the great variety of tones belonging to 
the human voice, an evidence of man's superiority over the brute 1 

In what chiefly consist the spirit and beauty of delivery 1 

How many notes or variations of tone, fall within the compass of the 
voice in speaking, compared with that of singing'? 

What is the diatonick scale 1 — What is an octave 1 

What is the difference between a note and a tone? 

What is a semitone 1 — What, a monotone 1 

Illustrate them both by examples'] — What is an interval 1 

Explain the intervals of a second, third, and lifth. 

What is meant by the qualities or kinds of voice 1 

What is meant by abruptness? — What is meant by pitch 7 

What is a concrete sound % — What, a discrete sound 1 

Explain the difference between radical, and concrete and discrete pitch. 

Is there a great variety in pitch 1 

Illustrate this by experiments on o, a, i, lay, &c. 

In reading or speaking to a small audience, what pitch of the voice 
ought generally to be adopted ? 

Ought the same to be taken in addressing a large audience 1 

In impassioned discourse, is it ever allowable to raise the pitch or 
key-note as we advance 1 

What is reading 1 

What is said of a theatrical manner of speaking? 

What is the manner adopted by the greatest orators ] 

Is the same correct in regard to singing 1 

Is a greater degree of moderation to be observed in reading than in 
spe&king 1 — Why 'I 

What is said of tameness and of earnestness in reading 1 

What is the general rule for managing the tones of the voice in 
reading 1 

In what estimation should harmonious and agreeable sounds be held 
by a reader or a speaker % 

Is an agreeable modulation important to every reader and speaker % — 
How do you prove this 1 

What is the general rule to regulate one in his modulation? 

The following marginal directions may be of some service 
to the unpractised student. 



Chap. II. OF TONES AND PITCH. 61 



EXERCISES. 

Low Tone— Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? 

Sounds not the clang' of conflict on the heath 1 
High — The fires of death— the bale-fires flash on high: 
Death rides upon the sulphury Sirock; 
Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 
Low — Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day 

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
Middle— For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 

And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. 
High — False wizard, a vaunt ! I have marshalled my clan : 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ; 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Down ! soothless insulter; I trust not the tale. 
Plaintive — Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius ; 
For Cassius is a- weary of the world. 
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shattered bark delay J 
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

Errours in regard to Pitch and Tones. 

High Pitch. — As it regards the tones of the voice, there is 
not, perhaps, a more common or unbecoming fault to which 
publick readers and speakers are liable, than that of commen- 
cing in a loud, and vociferous manner. This abrupt and bois- 
terous beginning is always displeasing, and not unfrequently 
disgusting, to the auditory- It wears the aspect of immodesty 
in a speaker, and appears, in general, to proceed from his over- 
weening confidence in his own abilities ; and, moreover, to a 
judicious hearer, it is a fair index, put out to forewarn him, that 
he may expect, in what is to follow, neither a display of good 
taste nor of talents. 

Although the pitch and tone of the voice at the opening of a 
discourse, are, in some measure, to be governed by the occasion, 
or the circumstances under which a reader or a speaker's ora- 
torical powers are called forth, yet seldom will circumstances 
require him to depart from the general direction given him in 
regard to pitch, on page 56, namely, to adopt that pitch of 
voice which he generally employs in ordinary conversation. 
As this pitch will be found most 'convenient and easy to him- 
self, so will it appear the most natural and agreeable to his 
6 



62 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

hearers — a point by no means to be overlooked. In this pitch, 
also, will his tones and inflections of voice be the most natural, 
and thus enable him to give them the greatest and most grate 
ful variety of swell and melody. 

As a speaker advances in his discourse, especially if it be 
somewhat impassioned, and increases in energy and earnest- 
ness, a higher and louder tone will naturally steal upon him, 
and sometimes he may even change his radical pitch ; and in 
such cases it may require no little address to keep his voice 
within proper bounds. This may easily be done, however, 
by occasionally recalling it, as it were, from the extremities 
of its adventurous flight, and by directing it to those who are 
near him. 

Loio Pitch. — An errour more frequent than that last pointed 
out, though perhaps not so fatal, occurs with those speakers 
who take their key-note or pitch in too loio a tone to be dis- 
tinctly heard. At the commencement of his discourse, a speaker 
may presume much upon the indulgence of his hearers ; but 
this is no good reason why he should speak so low as to com- 
pel them to listen, with the greatest attention, in order to un- 
derstand what is delivered. What is worth being uttered at 
all, is worth being spoken in a proper manner; but can any 
thing be more improper, than to utter our sentiments in so in- 
distinct a manner, or in so low a tone, as to render it impossi- 
ble for any one clearly to understand what is said ? 

This fault, if long continued, is apt to exhaust the patience 
of the hearers, who justly consider it an abuse of their good- 
nature, and an insult to their understandings. Therefore, in 
this, as in all other things, great extremes should be avoided. 

Affected Tones. — There is not a more besetting, oratorical 
sin, into which readers and speakers are apt to fall, than that Oi 
adopting an affected tone of voice. Many a one who, in ordi- 
nary conversation, has nothing peculiar or disagreeable in his 
tones and modulations, or, perhaps, whose voice is quite agreea- 
ble and melodious, will, nevertheless, when he comes to read 
or speak in publick, at once divest himself of the natural tones 
of his voice, as he would cast off an old garment that carried 
contagion in it, and which he feared would be communicated 
to his hearers, and enter upon his labours with a stiff, formal, 
artificial, and afftcted intonation, in which he appears more un- 
seemly and disagreeable than he would in a borrowed gar- 
ment, even one that was shabby and did not fit him. Some af- 
fect a simpering, soft, silly, sweet prettiness of tone and man- 
ner ; but more, a rigid, pompous dignity or solemnity ; both of 



Chap. II OF TONES AND MODULATION. 63 

which are equally foolish and absurd. A man of correct taste, 
however, will put forth his strength in his natural tones, and 
be sure, if not to please, at least, not to disgust, his auditory. 

Every thing like an academical tone, a scholastick tone, a 
clerical tone, or a sectarian or professional tone, should, by him 
who would excel in elocution, be carefully avoided. Even a 
trilling or tremour of the voice, as it appears, unless very skil- 
fully managed, more or less artificial, is to be very sparing- 
ly employed. In general, the only safe course for a reader or 
a speaker to pursue, is to attempt nothing more w^ith his voice 
before a publick audience, than what he already knows, by ex- 
perience, to be both easy and natural ; but, in private, he 
ought to be unceasing in his efforts to improve his voice in all 
the qualities of inflection, power, volume, compass, tone, and 
pitch. 

MODULATION. 

In regard to modulation, it may be observed, that the varia- 
tions of sound which the voice is capable of producing, are al- 
most infinite ; and that the modulations necessary to produce 
even common melody in prose, are very oreat. These modu- 
lations or variations of tone are produced more or less harmo- 
niously and appropriately by a reader or a speaker, just in pro- 
portion to the perfection and delicacy of structure in his organs 
of sound, the cultivation and refinement of his taste, and the 
accuracy of his ear. But the defects of most readers and speak- 
ers, are no less glaring than frequent. Among these may be 
mentioned that of pronouncing two or more w^ords which fol- 
low each other in the sa*ne construction, with a sameness ot 
modulation. Except in those rare instances, m Avhich the mon- 
otone is proper, no two words in the language, belonging to 
the same class, can immediately succeed each other, where a 
just elocution does not require, that the modulations of tone em- 
ployed in pronouncing the one, should be different, at least, in 
some slight degree, from those adopted in pronouncing the 
other. If, for example, the words "day and hour," in the fol- 
lowing lines, were both to be enunciated in precisely the same 
tone of voice, how shockingly would the spirit and beauty of 
the sentiment be marred ! 

A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, 
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. 

And yet, strange as it may appear, readers are not wanting, 
who are so totally devoid of refinement in taste, as to pronounce, 



64 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

not only two words in succession, but even three, four, or five, 
with scarcely a perceptible variation of tone. 

Example. — " He combined within himself all the elements 
of terrour, nerve, malice, and intellect — a heart that never melt- 
3d, a hand that never trembled, a mind that never wavered from 
ts purpose." 

Remarks. — In pronouncing the words "terrour, nerve, 
malice, and intellect," the intonation should continually vary 
is it passes on from one word to another. In enunciating 
' hand," the modulation should be nearly similar to that given 
o "heart ;" but the effect of a good elocution would be greatly 
njured, were one to pronounce "mind" without a far greater 
variation in his tone of voice. Similar directions might be 
given for pronouncing the verbs " melted, trembled, and waver- 
ed," as well as the adverb "never," although it would be irn 
oroper to adopt a uniform variety in enunciating these three 
classes of words. 

In such instances as these, the leading characteristick in the 
change of tone that is proper to be made, consists in an increase 
of the force and fulness of volume, as the voice advances from 
one word to another. ^ This augmentation of force and energy, 
however, must be slight or otherwise, just in proportion to the 
nature and spirit of the sentiment expressed. Another feature 
of this kind of modulation, is controlled by the inflection of 
voice that is proper to be adopted. This subject, therefore, will 
be resumed again in those chapters which treat of inflection 
and emphasis. 

Errours in Modulation. 

Monotony. — The monotone may sometimes be advantageous 
ly employed in pronouncing a simile, or some other peculiar 
construction of language; but a dull, monotonous method of 
pronouncing words in general, is, in the highest degree, repre- 
hensible. When the monotone is proper, a reader or a speak- 
er of ordinary capacity and acumen, will adopt it naturally, and 
without the least artificial effort, just as he would express, by 
the modulations and tones of his voice, many of the passions and 
emotions, merely by the promptings of internal feeling. If we 
would interest those who listen to us, we must adopt a pleasing 
and natural variety of tones and modulation : and nothing will 
be more sure to produce the opposite effect, than the adoption of 
artificial tones, or of a drawling, lifeless monotony. 

Artificial Variety. — But in order to avoid a monotonous 
manner of delivery, many a one falls into an opposite extreme, 



Chap. II. OF TONES AND MODULATION. 65 

equally offensive to a chaste ear, and not less inconsistent with 
the principles of correct enunciation. In order to give his words 
the greatest possible variety of intonation, inflection, and mod- 
ulation, he loses sight of both principle and natural propriety. 
He plunges into the depths of artificiality, and soars above the 
heights of elegance. He gives you correct tones and incorrect, 
agreeable modulations and disagreeable, all blended together, 
and displeases more than the dull, plodding, humdrum monoto- 
nist. But th?s artificial variety, is very apt to settle down into 
what is no less intolerable, a 

Uniform Variety.^ — Among tasteless readers and speakers, a 
uniform variety assumes as many set forms as Proteus had 
shapes ; but they are far less pleasing. These artificial and 
uniform modes of delivery, are too numerous to admit of an 
adequate description : and they too frequently occur not to have 
attracted the attention, and have elicited the displeasure, of 
most people. 

This displeasing and unnatural uniformity occurs with some 
speakers who run into the false conceit, that they must begin 
every sentence in the same tone and elevation, or depression, of 
the voice, and always close it with the same fall or cadence. A 
sameness of tone and modulation, they also adopt at every re- 
currence of any particular stop or pause, how different and va- 
ried soever the language and sentiments may be. But in poe- 
try this characteristic^ of dulness attains its full growth. Here 
we often see this uniform variety carried into a regular tune ; 
but it is a tune that shocks every ear but that of the pseudo- 
songster. 

As these last two faults often arise from an improper appli- 
cation of the inflections ofth j voice, and of emphasis, they will 
be more particularly noticed in a subsequent chapter. 

aUESTIONS. 

What is said of commencing a discourse in an abrupt and vociferous 
manner 1 
What is said of a very low pitch 1 

What is said of affected tones'? — What of natural tones'? 
What is said of trilling sounds 7 — What is said of monotony 1 
What is said of a drawling, lifeless, monotonous enunciation 1 
Is artificial variety in modulation, at all admissible 1 
What is said of uniform variety 7 

EXERCISES. 

King Philip of Mount Hope, was a patriot, attached to his 
native soil; a prince true to his subjects, and indignant of their 
wrongs ; a soldier, daring in battle, firm in adversity, patient of 
6* 



66 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

fatigtie, of hunger, of every variety of bodily suffering; ana 
ready to perish in the cause he had espoused, Possessing 
heroick qualities, and accomplishing bold achievements, that 
would have graced a civilized warriour, and have rendered him 
the theme of the poet and the historian, he lived a wanderer and 
a fugitive in his native land, and went down, like a lonely bark, 
foundering amidst darkness and tempest — without a pitying eye 
to weep his fall, or a friendly hand to record his struggle. 

Placid Tone — Come, gentle Spring ! ethereal mildness ! come, 
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, 
While musick wakes around, veiled in a shower 
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 

Low — Adah — Hush ! tread softly, Cain. 

Cain. I will: but wherefore? 

Adah. Our little Enoch sleeps upon yon bed 
Of leaves, beneath the cypress. 

Cain. Cypress ! 'tis 

A gloomy tree, which looks as if it mourned 
O'er what it shadows; wherefore didst thou choose it 
For our child's canopy? 

Adah. Because its branches 

Shut out the sun-like night, and therefore seemed 
Fitting to shadow slumber. 

Middle — O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, 

Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, 
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 
Survey our empire and behold our home ! 

Very Low — Hark! they whisper: angels say, 
" Sister spirit, come away." 

Loud — The world recedes : it disappears ! 
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
With sounds seraphick ring ! 

Very Loud— -Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! 
Loud— O grave ! where is thy victory 1 
O death ! where is thy sting 1 

Plaintive Ye woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom 
and very Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth 
Slow. The voiceof sorrow from my bursting heart — 
Farewell awhile ; I will not leave you long, 
For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells 
Who, from the chiding stream, or groaning oak, 
Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan. 

Slow O, Douglass! Douglass! if departed ghosts 

and Are e'er permitted to review this world, 
Plaintive. Within the circle of that wood thou art, 

And with the passion of immortals, hear'st 
My lamentation ; hear'st thy wretched wife 
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost 



CHAPTER III. 



INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 

The inflections of the voice consist in those 
peculiar slides which it takes in pronouncing a 
letter, a syllable, or a word. 

There are two of these slides, the upward and 
the downward. They are most apparent in the 
pronunciation of emphatick words, and words im- 
mediately preceding a pause, especially the clo- 
sing pause at the end of a sentence. 

The upward slide is called the Jfising Inflec- 
tion. It is sometimes indicated by the acute ac- 
cent, or following mark ( / ). 

The downward slide is denominated the Fall- 
ing Inflection. It is represented by the grave ac- 
cent ; thus ( x ). 

When both the upward and the downward 
slides of the voice occur in pronouncing a syllable, 
they are called a Circumflex or Wave. — The Cir- 
cumflex is indicated thus (*). 

CONCRETE SLIDES OR INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 

Before the learner proceeds to a perusal of the following de- 
velopment of the subject under consideration, he is requested to 
turn back to page 55, and carefully re-examine what is there 
said of the concrete and discrete movements of the voice, and 
of the radical, and concrete and discrete pitch, as such an ex 
amination will enable him more readily to comprehend the 
illustration which follows. 

By pronouncing in a very deliberate and perfectly natura 
manner, the letter y, (which is a diphthong,) the unpractised 
student will perceive, that the sound produced, is compound, 
being formed, at its opening, of the obscure sound of oo as 



6S ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

heard in oo-ze, which sound rapidly slides into fhat of % and 
then advances to that of ee as heard in e-ve, and on which it 
gradually passes off into silence. 

But, at present, the attention of the student is particularly 
called to the lessening - vanish of the voice as it dies away into 
silence at the close of a sound. A few experiments, therefore, 
oh some of the vowel elements, such as o, a, e, u, or on the 
words man, name, joy, song, and the like, may be instructive to 
such as have not hitherto given this subject a separate atten- 
tion, as it will enable them to perceive two important circum- 
stances in regard to the philosophy of vocal sounds, namely, 
that in the delicate vanish of the voice at the close of a letter 
or word, the stream of sound generally takes either an ascend- 
ing or a descending direction, as it dies away into silence, ac- 
cording to the impulse given by the organs which explode the 
sound, and that a little attention to this vanishing slide, will en- 
able any one to ascertain its direction, and thus to distinguish 
between what is called the rising and the falling inflections of 
the voice. If, in slowly pronouncing the letter y, i, or o, for 
example, the attention of the learner be directed to the opening 
fulness, and the gradually diminisbing volume of the voice un 
til it terminates in silence, he will readily perceive the proprie- 
ty of Dr. Rush's giving the name of radical movement to the first 
part of the elementary sound, and that of vanishing movement 
to the second — and, also, that of designating the whole move 
ment which has been described, a vanishing tone,. " This grad- 
ually lessening volume of sound upon syllables, and exquisite 
vanish with which they terminate, contrasted with their open 
ing fulness, are circumstances which show the superiority of 
the human voice over all musical instruments. The full mani- 
festation of the radical and vanish in the management of the 
slides of long quantity, or, in other words, in the utterance of 
long syllables, in speaking, reading, and recitation, is, in the 
highest degree, captivating to the ear, and is what gives smooth- 
ness and delicacy to the tones of the voice. In short syllables, 
the difference of the radical and vanish is perceptible, though 
not so obvious."* 

RISING INFLECTION. 

In the first place, let the sentence, " I will try to do better," 
be pronounced in a very deliberate manner, but without any 
stress bemg given to the word try ; and let the attention be 

* Dr. Barber. 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 69 

particularly directed to the sound of y. Then repeat, m the 
same deliberate and natural manner, that portion of the sen- 
tence which closes with try, without the remaining part of it — 
with precisely the intonation that would be employed were the 
whole sentence to be pronounced, and the letter y will be found 
"to have the rising slide of a second," or a tone: thus, " I will 
try 



In the second place, let the following sentence be uttered as 
a simple inquiry, or as it naturally would be if the answer yes 
or no were expected to it, and the y will take the rising slide 
of a third, or, in other words, its lessening vanish will rise 
two tones before it terminates : " Did he say he would try — to 
do better?" 

Again, if the question be pronounced under the emotion ol 
surprise, and with a strong emphasis on the word try, the y 
will have the rising, concrete slide of a fifth ; that is, from the 
radical portion of its sound to the terminating point of its vanish, 
the stream of voice will ascend four tones: "Did he say he 
would TRY?" 

Lastly, if the question be asked under a still stronger excite- 
ment of surprise, with a proportionable increase of the emphasis, 
the sound of y will stream through the rising octave : " Did he 
say he would TRY?" " Children and women whose emotions 
are particularly lively, frequently ask a question with the in- 
tense, piercing slide of the octave." 

FALLING INFLECTION. 

Let the sentence, " I saw Mr. Pry," be uttered in a natural 
manner, without the least emphasis or expression of emotion 
on the last word, and closed with the ordinary fall of the voice 
given to simple, affirmative sentences, and the letter y will take 
the falling slide of a second: thus, " I saw Mr. Pry." 

If, in pronouncing the sentence, such a degree of emphasis 
be given to the last word as merely to contrast it with the name 
of some one understood, it will "display the falling slide of a 
third : " I saw Mr. Pry. " 

If, in uttering the sentence, we increase the emphasis on Pry 
so much as to express an earnest degree of positiveness, the 
stream of sound will fall through a concrete fifth: " It was 
Mr. pry — I tell you." 

But let the highest degree of dictatorial positiveness be given 
to the word as if uttered in anger, and the slide will reach the 
downward octave : " You provoke me : I said it was Mr. PRY." 

For the foregoing illustration of the upward and the down- 



70 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. * 

ward slides of the voice, the author is mainly indebted io Dr. 
Rush's " Philosophy of the Human Voice," and to Dr. Bar- 
ber's " Grammar of Elocution," to which works they who wish 
to see a more extensive development of this subject, are respect- 
fully referred. 

examples — of the Rising Inflection. 

Did he say I' ? Did he say o' 1 

Did he say song' ? Did he say ocean' 1 

Remarks. — Let the reader who is not in the habit of attend- 
ing to the inflections of the voice, pronounce the foregoing sen- 
tences deliberately and in a natural tone, and he will readily 
perceive, that the voice slides upward in its vanish at the close 
of each. If he protract the sound of the last syllable, the pe- 
culiar characteristick of the inflection will be rendered still 
more obvious. 

•examples — of both the Rising and the Falling Inflections. 

Did he say man', or man % 

Did he say holy', or holy' ? 

Should we say Armour', or emour' % 

Should we say supplement', or supplement' ? 

Ought we to say ad vertise'mwnt', or advertisement* % 

Ought we to say coa/etor', or coa.dju'tur 1 

Does he talk rationally', or irrationally ? 

Does he speak grammatically', or ungrammatically'? 

Did he do it voluntarily', or involuntarily 1 

Does Napoleon merit praise', or dispraise' 1 

Does Cesar deserve fame', or blame' ? 

He said man', not man'. 
He said holy', not holy'. 
We should say emour', not humour'. 
We should say supplement', not supplement'. 
Ne ought to say advertisement', not advertise'ment'. 
vVe ought to say coad;Vtwr v , not coa/etor'. 
rle talks rationally, not irrationally'. 
He speaks grammatically', not ungrammatically. 
He did it voluntarily', not involuntarily'. 
Napoleon merits dispraise', rather than praise/ 
Cesar deserves blame', instead of fame'. 

He did not say man', but man'. 
He did not say holy', but holy'. 
We should not say humom', but emour\ 



Chap. Ill, INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 7\ 

We should not say supplement', but supplement'. 

We ought not to say advertise'mzznt', but advertisement'. 

We ought not to say coa/etor', but coadj/Vter'. 

He does not talk irrationally', but rationally'. 

He does not speak ungrammatically', but grammatically . 

He did not act involuntarily', but voluntarily'. 

Napoleon does not merit praise', but dispraise'. 

Cesar does not deserve fame', but blame'. 

We may not pronounce it eg-zibit', but egz-hibit\ 

We may not spell it h\irthe?i\ but burden . 

The orthography is not e?iquirer', but inquirer'. 

The spelling is not chesnut', but chesmut'. 

You should not spell it draft', but diatighf. 

You should not say discrepancy', but discrepance', 

We 'ought not to say you teas', but you icere. 

We should not pronounce it ware', but wer'.* 

Can Cesar deserve both fame' and blame' 1 Impossible . 

If Cesar does not deserve fame', he merits censure'. 

Is Washington more worthy of fame than Napoleon'? 
questionably'. 

Can Bonaparte be compared with Washington' 1 Not justly'. 

With whom may Napoleon be compared 1 1 In acuteness of 
intellect', with Diogenes' ; in ambition', with Cesar" ; in arms', 
with Alexander'. 

Was Bonaparte greater than Alexander' ? Let posterity de- 
termine'. Though a great original', he sometimes took Alex- 
ander as his model'. 

Does Napoleon merit praise', or censure', for not committing 
suicide when banished to St. Helena' ? Praise', unquestionably'. 

Was it an act of moral courage', or of cowardice', for Cato 
to fall on his sword' 1 Undoubtedly the latter'. 

Was it ambition that induced Regulusto return to Carthage'? 
No' ; but love of country', and respect for truth' — an act of the 
moral sublime', arising out of the firmest integrity'. 

With whom may Washington be compared' ? With Cincin- 
natus', with Manco Capack', and with Alfred'. 

Wherein did Mason surpass Chalmers' ? Not in argument', 
nor in the sublimity of his thoughts', nor yet', in the richness and 
splendour of his diction ; but' ... in elocution'. 

Can high attainments. in elocution', immortalize a man'? In 
the common acceptation of the term', they can'. 

* For a correct list of tho-e words often misspelled by good writers, and another of 
those most : frequently mispronounced by good readers, see, "English Grammar in 
Lecuires," pages 199 'and 207, inclusive. 



72 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



Whose fame will blaze along down the track of time with 
Newton's' % DoctcT Franklin's'. 

Whose fame in lexicography', is identified with the English 
language', along with Johnson and Walker's' 1 That of Web- 
ster and Cobb\ 

Who rank among the American', classical prose-writers and 
poets of the present day' ? Irving', Cooper', Flint', Paulding', 
and Wirt\ Channing', Marshall', Ramsay', Kennedy', Adams', 
Walsh', Waldo', Mason', and Verplanck', Nott', Everett', Car- 
ter', Madison', Jefferson, Silliman', Sands', SpragueY Sparks', 
Neale', Howe', Dennie', Griffin', Willis', Buckingham', Leggetf, 
Rush', and Griscom', Webster', Abbott', Gallaudet', Goodrich', 
Bird', Simms', and Hoffman', Slidell', Knapp', Hall', Prentiss', 
Fay', and Crafts', Beck', Francis', Hosack', Chapman', God- 
man', and Dewees', Miss Sedgwick', Miss Gould', Mrs. Wil- 
lard', Mrs Hale', and Mrs. Sigourney' — Coffin', Halleck', Per- 
cival', and Pierpont', Hillhouse', Wilcox', Waldo', Whittier', 
Bryant', Brooks', and Brainard', Drake', Mellen', Dana', Tap- 
pan', Ware/, and Eastburn', and many others'.* 

These exercises are presented mainly for the young tyro m 
elocution, as preliminary to the application of the following 
rules. Let him, therefore, in the first place, read them several 
times over, observing carefully to apply the inflections of the 
voice according to the prescribed marks. But in order to en- 
force upon his mind the great importance of a strict attention 
to the upward and downward slides of the voice, after having 
learned to pronounce these examples correctly, let him reverse 
the process : that is, let him make the falling inflection, where 
the voice ought to rise, and the rising, where it should fall, and 
he will readily perceive, that the. performance will be difficult 
and unnatural, and, also, that the meaning and the melody of the 
sentences will thereby be impaired. This procedure will qualify 
him more readily to detect the proper' inflections wherever they 
occur, as well as more easily to understand the illustrations and 
the application of the rules when he comes to enter upon the 
succeeding exercises. 

It will not, perhaps, be deemed impertinent to suggest to the 
.eacher of classes in reading, the importance of frequently re 
quiring several members of the class to pronounce, successively 



• The Author is not unaware that his own want of information on this interesting 
:d delicate point, excludes many a worthy name 
j also fears that when time shall have drawn hi 
hi names now included in if, will be blotted out. 



tnd delicate point, excludes many a worthy name from its legitimate place in this list 
fiq also fears that when time shall have drawn his correcting pencil over it, some of 



Ciiap. 111. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 75 

the same sentence, and of occasionally causing the whole class 
to repeat the same sentence at one arid the same time. Such 
procedures will prove, not only a saving of much time and la- 
Dour, by instructing and exercising many at once, but also have 
1 tendency to excite in their minds a high degree of emulation 
. — the grand secret of able teaching. Let the instructer firft 
read each sentence to the pupil in a distinct and eloquent man- 
ner, and then require him to pronounce it exactly in the same 
manner. 

When the following rules are brought before the learner, no 
faithful teacher will neglect to explain them clearly, and to en- 
force them practically. No faithful instructer will lose sight of 
the important maxim, that the juvenile mind ought to be lea 
along the path of science ; not driven. Principles should be de- 
veloped ; rules, illustrated ; intricacies, unfolded ; obstacles, re- 
moved ; and, indeed, whatever branch of science a youth is pur- 
suing, should be made plain, easy, and inviting. From the lips 
of an eloquent teacher, instructions drop like honey from the 
comb. They flow as clear as the pebbled brook. They fall 
ike sweet musick on the listening ear. 

aUESTIONS. 

Of what does chapter 3, treat 1 

What is meant by the inflections of the voice*? 

How many slides of the voice are there 7 ? 

In the pronunciation of what words are they most apparent 1 

What is the upward slide of the voice called 1 

How is it indicated 1 

What is the downward slide of the voice denominated 1 

By what sign is it sometimes represented 1 

What constitutes a circumflex or wave of the voice 1 

Describe the protracted sound of y. 

Pronounce the letters o, a, e, and u, and the words name, song, &c. in 
a very deliberate manner, and notice the vanish of the voice at the close 
of each as it dies away into silence. 

What two circumstances in regard to this delicate vanish of the voice 
at the close of a sound, demand particular attention'? 

What part of an elementary sound is denoted by each of the terms 
radical and vanishing movcvient ? 

What name is given to the whole movement of the voice in explo- 
ring an elementary sound ? 

Whatsis meant by the rising slide of a second'? — Please to illustrate it 
by experiment. 

Please to illustrate the rising slide of a third, of a fifth, and of an oc- 
*ave; and explain each of these terms. 

Illustrate the falling slide of a second, of a third, of a fifth, and of an 
octave ; and explain each of these terms. 

Now have the goodness to read, several times over, the example? on 
loasres 70, 71, and 72, and describe the inflections adopted. 
7 



74 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

RULES FOR THE INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 
RULE I. 

A simple, affirmative sentence, or member of a 
sentence, generally closes with the falling inflec- 
tion ; as, " God is justV " Cheerfulness is prefer- 
able to mirth*. " " Liberal principles are advan- 
cing rapidly in most parts of the civilized world'." 

Exception. The inflections of the voice, are sometimes 
controlled by emphasis, and are, in such instances, styled em- 
phatick inflections, as in the following examples, in which 
Rule 1st is reversed: " It is the dictate of reason to yield the 
argument to one who commands thirty Ze-gions'." " Three thous- 
and duc-SLts" ; 'tis a good', round sum'." 

" Here', under leave of Brutus and the rest', 
(For Brutus is an Aow-ourable man' ; 
So are they all", all /t<m-ourable men',) 
Come I to speak in Cesar's funeralV 

:< A thousand of our years amount' 
Scarce to a day in thine account'." 

Remarks. — If, in this last example, the emphasis had fallen 
on account, instead of thine, the inflection at its close, would 
have been reversed, and, therefore, made according to Rule 1. 
So, also, in the example which precedes it, were the emphatick 
force to fall upon man and men, instead of honourable, both these 
words would close with the falling inflection. 

But notwithstanding this exception to Rule 1st, the principle 
contained in it, is one of extensive application in reading, and, 
moreover, onethatwill generally be found to be correct. Hence, 
we might insist on the importance of the Rule; but it? impor- 
tance becomes greatly increased when it is considered it its rela- 
tion to Rule 2, which forms a contrast with it. 

RULE II. 

A negative sentence, or member, commonly 
ends with the rising inflection ; as, " God is not 
the author of sin." " He can no longer drown the 
voice of conscience in the clamorous report of 



war 



/ n 



The novitiate in grammar is informed, that every sentence, or mem- 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 75 

ber of a sentence, which embraces the word no or not, or the affix un. 
is called negative. 

Exception 1. When a negative sentence is employed to 
answer a question, it generally closes with the falling inflec 
tion ; as, " With whom will yon abide % With no one'." 
" When will you return 1 ? Never " " Whom did you call? No 
body" "Were you pleased with the discourse? No ; I was 
not at all pleased with it. v " 

Exception 2. Rule 2, is sometimes reversed by the con- 
trolling power of emphasis ; as, " It was once remarked of a 
gentleman in the Irish Parliament', in allusion to his well- 
known gw-mandizing propensity', that he had eaten up his 
senses ; to which Henry Erskine replied', ' Pugh v ! they would 
not be a mouth-(\i\ to himV " 

Remarks. — Were it proper, in this example, to allow the su- 
periour emphasis, in an inverted equal wave, to fall on him, in- 
stead of mouthful, the inflection at its close, would be the rising, 
in accordance with Rule 2d ; thus, " Pugh v ! they would not 
be a mouth-f\i\ to him'." 

Again, if a friend in entreating me to oblige him in some par- 
ticular thing, were to put to me the interrogatory, " Can you do 
it for me ?" in case I wished to decline the request in a gentle and 
conciliating manner, my reply would be, u No ; I can-not' " — 
with a stress upon can, and the rising inflection upon not ; but 
were I to reply in a harsh and morose, manner, the emphasis 
and the inflection, as well as the intonation, would- be changed ; 
thus, "No; I can-not . y " 

Exception 3. Doctrinal precepts and moral maxims, (in 
the enunciation of which, emotion, strong emphasis, and intense 
inflection, would ordinarily be improper,) though expressed neg- 
atively, generally close with the falling concrete when not 
contrasted ; as, "Bless, and curse not\" " Be just, and fear 
not\" " Speak evil of no man." " Let no cor-rupt communica- 
tion proceed out of thy mouth\" 

" Thou shalt not fait* " Thou shalt not steal?." " Thou 
shalt not bear false witness against thy neigh-hour." 1 

But when such maxims are contrasted, or expressed with 
emotion, they commonly take the rising vanish ; as, " Mind not 
high things', but condescend to men of low estate'." " Be not 
overcome of e-vil', but overcome e-vil with good \" 

" I cannot tell what you and olh-er men 
Think of this life'; but for my single self\ 
I had as lief not be', as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I my self" 



.6 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Remarks.- -It may be observed to the student, that, in the 
application of the rules of elocution, discretion must often be his 
tutor ; but let him not hence infer, that these rules are of little 
or no importance to him. When judiciously applied, their 
effect will be, not only to correct affected and false modes of 
reading, but, by conducting him into the paths of accuracy and 
elegance, to enable him to attain original excellences and 
beauties. 

exercises — Rules 1 and 2. 

Envy is bound up in the heart of a fool\ 

No one is willing to be thought a fool'. 

'Tis not in man', who is of yesterday' — who hastens down 
to moulder in the dust' — 'tis not in man presumptuous to con- 
tend with God his Maker'. 

A stranger's purpose in these lays', 
Is', to congratulate', and not. to praise'. 
The path of sorrow', and that path alone', 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknowns- 
No traveller e'er reached that blest abode', 
Who found not thorns and briers in his road\ 

Remarks. — Let Jae reader, in pronouncing the second and 
third of the foregoing examples, or almost any other negative 
sentences or members of sentences, close each with the falling 
inflection, and he cannot but perceive that their spirit, and their 
force, their harmony, and their beauty, will thereby be lost. In 
the last couplet, it will be observed, that the two negatives no 
and not, are equivalent to an affirmative ; therefore the sen- 
tence is closed with the falling inflection at " road," according 
to Rule 1. 

This rule is often violated by clever readers, by celebrated 
divines, and renowned statesmen. The young student cannot, 
therefore, be too particular in his attention to it. Some readers 
would close the first of the following examples, with the rising 
slide ; but, as the two negatives, not and un, by destroying one 
another, are equivalent to an affirmative', the sentence more 
naturally takes the falling inflection. It is sometimes, how- 
ever, a mere matter of taste, whether a rule, or its exception, 
be followed. 

exercises — Rules 1 and 2, and Notes. 

Wherefore', come out from among them\ and be ye separate, 
saith the Lord v ; and touch not the unclean thing. 

For I say to every man that is among you', not to think of 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 77 

himstif more highly than he ought to think', but to think 
soberly'. 

Touch not the ancient elms that bend their shade 

O'er the patriots' graves', for 'neath their boughs 

There is a solemn darkness', even at noon", 

Suited to such as visit at the shrine 

Of serious liberty". No factious voice 

Called them unto the field of generous fame', 

But the pure', consecrated love of home". 

What is ambition" 1 'Tis a glorious cheat". 

Angels of light walk not so dazzlingly ^ 

The sapphire walls of heaven". The unsearched mine 

Hath not such gems\ Earth's constellated thrones 

Have not such pomp of purple and of gold\ 

It hath no features". In its face is set 

A mirror", and the gazer sees his own." 

Cassius. You wrong me ev-ery way v ; you wrong me, 
Brutus" : 
I said an eZ-der soldier"; not a footer'. 
Did I say bet-xer' 1 

Brutus. If you dicT, I care not'. 

Cas. When Ce-sar lived', he durst not thus have moved me\ 

Bru. Peace", peace" ; you durst not so have tempi-ed him\ 

Cas. /durst nof? 

Bru. No\ i 

Cas. What" ! durst not tempt him"\ 

Bru. For your life you durst not". 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love'. 
I may do that I shall be sor-ry for". 

Bru. You have done that you should be sor-ry for'. 
There is no ter-rour', Cassius', in your threats y ^ 
For I am armed so strong in hon-esty', 
Thnt they pass by me as the idle wind y , 
Which I respect not". 

Remarks. — Those negative sentences and members which 
take the falling slide, in the last two of the foregoing exam- 
ples, are inflected according to Exceptions 1 and 2. The neg- 
ative members in the two examples next preceding those last- 
mentioned, are inflected according to Rule 2, and the last part 
of Exception 3. 

In uttering the same sentences on different occasions, (as il- 
lustrated under Exception 2,) we change the inflections of the 
voice according to the various impressions which we wish to 
make, or the sentiments we wish to convey ; for, under differ- 
ent circumstances, on account of the barrenness of language, 
the same words are employed as the vehicle of thoughts, pas- 
sions, and feelings widely different: and, in oral discourse, this 
diversity in the purport of our words, is always indicated by the 
particular tones, modulations, emphases, and inflections adopted 



78 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Our ability thus to make a few words answer many purposes, 
may be regarded as a wise provision of nature. Were it not 
for this power of the vocal organs, by which they are enabled 
to modulate, and diversify, and vary the sounds of which the 
same words are the representatives — were we compelled to em- 
ploy a different word for every variation of the same idea, or 
sentiment, or feeling, in order to express the innumerable shades 
and changes, and aspects of our thoughts, passions, and emo- 
tions, we should be obliged to increase the number of our word? 
to so vast an extent that it would entirely overreach the powers 
of memory to grasp it. 

The foregoing development of the subject, must have con- 
vinced the reader that the study of elocution is not unattended 
with difficulties, and that the happy application of its principles, 
requires no small degree of the exercise of his reasoning facul- 
ties ; but, with him who has a large development of the organs 
of firmness and combativeness, joined to an active temperament, 
difficulties and obstacles, so far from discouraging him, tend 
only to arouse the energies of his mind, and excite them to vig- 
orous and healthy action. His first inquiry is, whether the 
subject is important — whether it is connected with the orna- 
mental, the elegant, the useful ; and, when satisfied that it is, 
his perseverance soon removes all difficulties, and surmounts 
all obstacles. 

It may be proper, nevertheless, to caution the learner against 
the misapplication, of rules and principles. These are design- 
ed to correct his errours — to lead him back to the simplicity of 
nature — to point out to him her paths, and conduct him safely 
and smoothly along in them. If, therefore, in attempting to 
enunciate a word, a phrase, or a sentence, according to the 
direction of some particular rule, the learner find that his elo- 
cution is unnatural, he must reject that mode, and conclude 
that, either the rule is wrong, (which will not often be the 
case,) or that he has misapprehended or misapplied it. But 
let him not stop here. A failure does no positive good. No ; 
let him persevere, until he finds out a more natural method of 
applying the rule. 

RUIiE III. 

Sentences beginning with an interrogative pro- 
noun or adverb, (w/19, which, what, liow, when, 
where, &c.,) generally close with the falling inflec- 
tion ; as ; " Who approaches' V " How can I assist 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 79 

you v ?" " When did you arrive' V " How long will 
you remain here v V 7 " Where do you lodge' ']" 
" Whither are you going' 1 " 

Exception. In colloquial style, when a lemark or state- 
ment is not clearly understood by the person addressed, if a 
question be put by him, beginning with an interrogative pro- 
noun or adverb, it is generally closed with the rising inflection : 
as, " What did you say' ?" " Whose name did you mention' V- 
"When will he return"?" 

RULE IV. 

Interrogative sentences commencing with a 
verb, (that is, all that do not begin with a pronoun 
or adverb,) generally close with the rising inflec- 
tion ; as, " Is he dutiful' V " Am I, then, to live be- 
yond the grave'?" " Are fleets and armies neces- 
sary to a work of love and reconciliation' V? 

Exception. When a question beginning with a verb, is 
repeated with increased emphasis, it forms an exception to Rule 
4; as, "Are you going'?" — "Are you going'?" "Did you 
find the letter you were in search of ?" — " Did you find the 
letter you were in search of?' 

exercises — Rules 3 and 4. 

Who can fathom the depths of misery into which intemper- 
ance plunges its victims' ? 

What infidel ever passed the bourn of mortality', without 
casting a trembling eye upon the scene that lay before him"? 

Art thou not from everlasting,' O Lord my God', my Holy 
One'? Wast thou displeased with the rivers'? was thine anger 
against the rivers'? was thy wrath against the sea', that thou 
didst ride upon thy horses and thy chariots of salvation' ? 

Do we select extortioners to enforce the laws of equity' ? Do 
we make choice of profligates to guard the morals of society'? 
Do we depute atheists to preside over the rights of religion' ? 

Will the Lord cast us off for ever'? and will he be favour- 
able no more'? Is his mercy clean gone for ever'? Hath God 
forgotten to be gracious' ? Hath he in anger shut up his tender 
mercies'? 

Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand v ? 
and meted out heaven with the snan\ and comprehended the 



80 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

dust of the earth in a measure', and weighed the mountains in 
scales', and the hills in a balance' % 

What if this guilty hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood v 1 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 
To wash it white as snow"? 

Has God', thou fool', worked solely for thy good'' % 
Thy joy', thy pastime", thy attire", thy food"'? 
Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn", 
For him as kindly spreads the flow'ry lawn" 1 

Remark. — The inflection at lawn, in this last example, shomd 
not be the falling, because the last two lines of it, are not a sep- 
arate member or question, but merely an adjunct, or interve- 
ning phrase, of the main question, which, expressed literally, 
would run thus : " Thou fool' ! has God', who feeds the wanton 
fawn for thy table', and who as kindly spreads the flowery lawn 
for him', worked solely for thy good' ? for thy joy', thy pastime', 
thy attire', thy food' ?"' 

RU1LE V. 

When two questions are connected by the con- 
junction or, the first commonly lakes the rising, 
and the second, the falling, inflection ; as, " Does 
he speak rationally', or irrationally^" " Should 
we say man', or man^ ?" " Does his conduct sup- 
port discipline', or destroy it v %" 

EXERCISES. 

Will the trials of this life continue for ever', or will time 
finally dissipate them' % 

Shall we crown the author of all these publick calamities 
with garlands', or shall we wrest from him his ill-deserved au- 
thority' 1 

To the foregoing rule, there are some exceptions. 

Exception 1. When two questions united by or, begin 
with an interrogative pronoun or adverb, we frequently give the 
falling inflection to both ; as, " How can a blind man see', or 
one of no understanding', comprehend' ?" " How shall the 
weak man wrest the spoil from the strong', or an honest man 
deceive his neighbour' ?" " To whom', then', will ye liken God\ 
or what likeness will ye compare unto him' ?" 

Exception 2. When two questions connected by or, com- 
mence with a verb, we sometimes close each of them with the 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 81 

rising inflection ; as, " Canst thou draw out leviathan with a 
hook', or his tongue with a cord which thou lette st down'?' 
" Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons', or his head with 
spears"?" 

Exception 3. When tv questions united by or, commence, 
the one with an adverb sr pronoun, and the other with a verb, 
each requires the inflection it would take when not thus con- 
nected; as, " Hath the rain a father'? or who hath begotten the 
drops of dew v ?" 

exercises — Exceptions 1 and 2. 

Who can open the doors of his face', or come to leviathan 
with his double bridle ? Who can number the clouds in wis- 
dom', or stay the bottles of heaven' ? 

Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades', or loose 
the bands of Orion' 1 Canst thou make the horse afraid', like a 
grasshopper', or make him turn back from the sword' ? 

Can storied urn', or animated bust', 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath''? 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust''? 
Or flattery sooth the dull', cold ear of death' 1 
The spruce philosopher has found 

The source of the disease that nature feels', 

And bids the world take heart', and banish fear\ 

Thou foof ! will thy discovery of the cause 

Suspend the effect', or heal it' 1 

Remarks. — A little attention will convince any one, that, to 
:lose the last member of these examples with an inflection op- 
oosite to that which comes before or, would totally pervert the 
sense. He will also observe, that, in these examples which 
torm exceptions to Rule 5, the antithesis in the two members 
connected by or, is not preserved as in those examples which 
come under the rule; and that, moreover, most of them would 
Jidmit of being expressed in two, separate questions. 

RUXE VI. 

Exclamatory sentences generally close with 
the falling inflection ; as, " How truly are we the 
dupes of show and circumstance' !" " O', how 
hast thou', with jealousy', infected the sweetness 
of affiance' !" 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



EXERCISES. 



"What a piece of work is man' ! How noble m reason^ ! How 
infinite in faculties' ! In form and moving', how express rnd ad- 
mirable' ! In action', how like an angel' ! In apprehension', 
how like a god' ! 

O that my head were waters', and my eyes a fountain of 
tears', that 1 might weep day and night for the slain of the 
daughter of my people' ! 

Joy-loving', love-inspiring', holy bower\ 

Know', in thy sacred bosom thou reeeiv'st 

A murderer' ! 

Ye amaranths' ! ye roses', like the morn' ! 

Sweet myrtles', and ye golden orange-groves N ! 

Ingratitude' ! thou marble-hearted fiend v , 

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child 

Than the sea-monster' 1 ! 

'Tis done' ! dread winter spreads his latest glooms', 

And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year'. 

How dead the vegetable kingdom liesM 

How dumb the tuneful' ! Horrour wide extends 

His desolate domain". 

RULE VII. 

When a sentence consists of two or more affirm- 
ative members, the last member but one, takes 
the rising, and all the rest, the falling, inflection ; 
as, " He fought the Scythian in his cave', and the 
un conquered Arab fled before himV " He won\ 
divided', and ruled nearly all of modern EuropeV 
u The minor longs to be of age v ; then to be a 
man of business v ; then to make up an estate v ; 
then to arrive at honours'; then to retireV 

EXERCISES. 

The first ingredient in conversation', is truth'; the next' 
good sense' ; the third', good-humour' ; the last', wit'. 

Nature rendered him* incapable of improving by all the 
rules of eloquence', the precepts of philosophy', his father's en- 
deavours', and the most refined society of Athens'. 

Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face. She 
has touched it with vermilion' ; planted in it a double row of 

* The son of Cicero 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 83 

:vory ; made it the seat of smiles and blushes' ; lighted it up 
and enlivened it with the brightness of the eyes' ; hung it on 
eacn side with curious organs of sense'; given it airs and 
graces that cannot be described' : and surrounded it with such 
a flowing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the most 
agreeable liffht'. 

Many of the tyrants that opposed the christian religion', have 
long since gone to their own place' ; their names have descend- 
ed upon the roll of infamy' ; their empires have passed', like 
shadows', over the rock'; they have successively disappeared', 
»»nd left not a trace behind'. 

But they that fight for freedom', undertake' 
The noblest cause mankind can have at stake\* 
Religion v , virtue v , truth', whate'er we call' 
A blessing' — freedom is the pledge of air. 

Remarks. — In enunciating the foregoing examples, the reader 
has a fine opportunity to display his skill in modulation. In 
the first place, let him enter deeply into the meaning and spirit 
of his author : and, secondly, let him remember, that, whenever 
several successive members are inflected alike, it would be mo- 
notonous and insipid to modulate any two of them in the same 
manner. In reading such sentences, the voice should gradu- 
ally increase in energy and fulness as it advances from one 
member to another, and continually vary in its intonation, so 
as to produce a sort of climax. 

At the words "minor," "then," "improving," " touched it," 
"in it," "enlivened it," and "shade of hair," a slight pause 
(called a Rhetorical Pause) is absolutely necessary to a happy 
and forcible elocution. The same kind of pause also occurs 
after the words " His part," "land," "ocean," "power," "fame," 
"riches," "itself" "Conquerors," "Belief," "reason," and 
"Or," "Or," "Or," in the following exercises. See page 
138. For an explanation of the Final Pause at "under- 
take" and " call," in the example immediate!}" preceding these 
Remarks, see page 144. 

Exception 1. When a sentence consists of only two affirm- 
ative members, the first generally takes the falling inflection 
if it end with an emphatick word ; as, " His part was invented 
by himself \ and was terribly unique'." " He would have en- 
slaved the land to make the ocean free \ and he wanted only 
power to enslave both'." " The idol of to-day', pushes the 
hero of yesterday out of recollection ; and will', in turn', be 
supplanted by his successors of to-morrow'." 

Exception 2. When the sense of any member or members 



84 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

of a sentence, is suspended, and depends for its completion on 
a succeeding member, such incomplete member or members 
generally require the rising inflection — and the suspending 
pause; as, "As we cannot discern the shadow moving along 
the dial-plate', so the advances we make in knowledge', are 
perceivable only by the distance gone over?' " If thy brothei 
offend thee', thou shalt forgive him'." 

But the principle contained in this exception, though gener- 
ally correct, and, so far, very important to the oratorical stu- 
dent, is sometimes reversed by the controlling power of empha- 
sis ; as is illustrated by the following examples: — " One who 
frequently associates with the vile', though he may not become 
actually base", is sure to gain an ill name'." " The man who 
is in the daily habit of using ardent spirits', if he do not become 
a drunkard", is in danger of losing his health and character'." 

exercises — Exceptions 1 and 2. 

As the pupil reads the examples in the following, and other, exer- 
cises, he ought to be interrogated by the teacher, in regard to the appli- 
cation of the Rules and Exceptions for inflecting, and thus be enabled 
to commit the Rules to memory by applying them in practice. 

Out of the nettle danger', we pluck the flower thistle'. 

As in water face answereth to face', so doth the heart of man 
to man'. 

As fame is but breath', as riches are transitory', and as life 
itself is uncertain', it becomes us to seek a better portion'. 

If riches corrupt thee', thy virtue is blasted'. 

Thy virtue is blasted', if riches corrupt thee'. 

Whatever tends to promote the principles of virtue', and 
strengthen the bands of brotherhood' — whatever tends to calm 
the ruffled feelings', and regulate the passions', is undoubtedly 
a source of happiness'. 

Franklin', the sage whom both worlds claim as their own', 
whose name is recorded with equal honour in the history oi 
science and of governments', is justly entitled to be reckoned 
sm.rug those who have done the greatest honour to our species'. 

Conquerors are a species of beings between good kings and 
tyrants, but partake most of the qualities of the latter'. 

The weakness of mankind', causes them to look with admi- 
ration upon personages distinguished only for mischief" ; and 
they are better pleased to be discoursing about the destroyer', 
than the founder', of a nation'. 

As belief is an act of reason', superiour reason may dictate 
to the weak' 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 85 

Belief is an act of reason ; and', therefore 7 , superiour rea 
son often dictates to the vveak\ 

If we have no regard for religion in youth', we seldom have 
any respect for it in age. 

"Remark. — In this last example, that "we have no regard 
for religion in youth," is entirely supposititious ; but in the fol- 
lowing construction, that fact is conceded, and the inflections of 
both members are reversed. 

If we have no regard for religion in youth\ we ought to have 
some respect for it in age. 

This demonstrates the necessity of a constant exercise of 
good judgment and correct taste, in order to make the proper 
inflections. 

Example. — The solicitude about the grave', may be but the 
offspring of an overwrought sensibility' ; but human nature is 
made up of foibles and prejudices'. 

Remark. — If, in reading this sentence, the superiour em- 
phasis be allowed to fall on made up, and the inferiour, with a 
circumflex, upon "foibles and prejudices," the sentence will 
close with the rising inflection, in accordance with the Excep- 
tion to Rule 1. 

EXERCISES. 

O solitude*, romantick maid'! 
Whether by nodding towers you tread 7 , 
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom', 
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb', 
Or climb the Andes' clifted side 7 , 
Or by the Nile's coy source abide', 
Or', starting from your half-year's sleep', 
From Hecla view the thawing deep', 
Or', at the purple dawn of day', 
Tadmor's marble waste survey', 

You', recluse', again I woo% 

And again your steps pursue*. 

Should man through nature solitary roam', 

His will his sovereign', everywhere his home', 

What force w T ould guard him from the lion's ]&w* 1 

What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw*? 

Or', should fate lead him to some safer shore', 

Where panthers never prowl', nor lions roar', 

Where liberal nature all her charms bestows', 

Suns shine", birds sing', flowers bloom*, and water flows'; 

Fool*, dost thou think he'd revel on the store', 

Absolve the care of Heaven', nor ask for more'1 

Though waters flowed*, flowers bloomed*, and Phoebus shone. 

He'd sigh', he'd murmur that he was alone* : 

For know', the Maker', on the human breast', 

A sense of kindred', country*, man', impressed*. 

8 



86 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Remarks.— For the sake of a more pleasing variety in mod- 
ulation, it would be no unwarrantable liberty to depart so far 
from the rule for inflecting this last example, as to give the 
falling concrete to the words "tomb" and "roar." 

Many more rules for regulating the various inflections ot 
the voice, might easily be given; but an unreasonable multi- 
plicity of rules on this, or any other, subject, tends to embar- 
rass and perplex the learner, and, in a measure, defeat the ob- 
ject secured by a less number, judiciously selected and arranged. 
Notwithstanding that the happy application of the foregoing 
rules, requires no small degree of judgment and taste, both on 
account of their liability to be misconceived, and in consequence 
of the numerous exceptions (besides those already pointed out) 
which ought to be, and which, without detriment to a good 
elocution, might be, made to them, it is believed, that a careful 
observance of them will prove highly beneficial to such as are 
anxious to attain an elegant and an accurate style in reading 
and speaking. 

In elocution, as in every other department of science which 
pertajns to language, there are not wanting, at least, a few, 
leading, fixed prnciples, which. may be laid down as landmarks 
in the form of rules, and prove highly serviceable to the novi- 
tiate, to guide him on his way to excellence in this department 
of learning : but because rules have their exceptions, it is no 
good reason why they should be rejected. There are few rules 
in any science (except the exact sciences) which have not their 
exceptions. Therefore, to reject them, on this ground, would be to 
do away all science. But an unnecessary and an unreasonable 
multiplicity of rules, is an opposite extreme, equally to be avoided, 

aUESTIONS. 

Repeat and explain Eule 1, without looking into the book. 

What is the Exception to this rule'? — Illustrate it by -examples. 

What is Rule 2 1 — Can you illustrate it by examples 1 

Repeat and explain Exception 1st, to Rule 2. 

Repeat and explain Exception 2d, and the Remarks which follow. 

What is Exception 31— What is the second part to it 1 — Please to 
read the examples which follow it. 

When judiciously applied, what is the effect of the rules of elocution? 

Please to read the exercises which follow, and explain the inflections 
t>y applying the Rules and Notes. 
' What is the design of the rules and principles of elocution 1 

Repeat Rule 3. — Will you illustrate it by appropriate examples? 

What is Rule 41 — Please to read the examples to Rules 3 and 4. 

Repeat Rule 5, and read the Examples under it, and show how they 
llustrate the rule. 

What are Exceptions 1, 2, and 3, to Rule 5? Have the goodness to 
dlustrate them bv examples. 



Cliap. Ill INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 87 

Will you enunciate the Exercises under Exceptions 1 and 2, and ex 
piain the application of the Exception to the inflections of each example 1 

What is Rule 6 1 — Please to read and explain all the examples un- 
der it. 

What is Rule 7 1 — Illustrate it by numerous examples. 

What is the 1st Exception to Rule l'l — What, the 2d 1 

What Exception is there to the principle contained in Exception 
second 7 

Read and explain the numerous Exercises which follow Rule 7. 

The following rules being deemed of minor importance, an 
admitting, also, of a greater number of exceptions than the fore- 
going, it has been thought most appropriate to present them in 
the form of notes. 

A SERIES. 

A Series denotes a succession of similar or op- 
posite particulars, words, or portions of a sen- 
tence, following each other in the same construc- 
tion. A series may he single, double, triple, or 
compound. It most frequently occurs either at* 
the commencement, or at the close, of a compound 
sentence. 

By Mr. Walker, the various kinds of series are 
reduced to three general divisions : 

1. The Simple Series. 

2. The Compound Series. 

3. The Series of Series. 

In the delivery of almost every separate portion of a sentence, 
chaste and an appropriate elocution requires, that the tones 
and the inflections of the voice should be varied ; but far more 
necessary is this variation where the sentence is so constructed 
that perfectly similar portions succeed each other to a consid- 
erable extent. To attempt to lay down rules by which to reg- 
ulate the voice in all its appropriate modulations and inflec- 
tions — by which to mark the definite character of every tone, 
the exact direction of every wave or concrete vanish, or the 
precise extent of every upward and downward slide, would be 
worse than idle; for such directions, as far as they would pro- 
duce any effect, would prove highly pernicious, as they would 
lead to a stiff, formal, artificial enunciation — an enunciation the 
most execrable that scholastick dulness could invent. But not- 
withstanding the absurdity of such an extreme as the one here 
alluded to, something may be effected by the observance of a 



?8 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION 

few rules judiciously arranged and cautiously applied, by their 
pointing out the most harmonious and agreeable variety that 
may be adopted in the enunciation of the different kinds of se- 
ries. If they merely prevent that tasteless and unendurable 
monotonous manner so often exhibited in the pronunciation of 
such constructions, they effect, not merely a negative, but a pos- 
itive, good. 

SIMPLE SERIES. 

A Simple Series consists of two or more sin- 
gle words or particulars, following each other in 
the same construction, either in commencing or 
in closing a sentence. 

Note 1. When a sentence commences with two particulars, 
the first may have the falling, and the second, the rising, in- 
flection. Example : " Exercise' and temperance' strengthen 
the constitution." 

Observation 1. It has already been shown, that the upward 
and the downward slides of the voice vary very greatly in de- 
gree or extent. Care should betaken in reading the foregoing 
example, that the downward slide on the word exercise, be but 
slight — not more than one tone, or the falling slide of a second. 

Obs. 2. In Mr. Walker's zeal to build up, and support, a the- 
ory, possibly it never occurred to him, that neither the forego- 
ing, nor the following, rules, are grounded in the philosophy 
of language, nor on the philosophical principles of vocal sounds, 
but merely on the ideal principles of good taste. Very well. 
But may not the principles of good taste, vary ? Unquestiona- 
bly they may : # and with every variation of these principles, 
the rules that are founded on them, must, of necessity, undergo 
a corresponding change. Hence, it would be no particular det- 
riment to the elocution of the foregoing example, were we to 
give the rising inflection to both of the commencing particulars ; 
for a pleasing variety (which a just elocution absolutely de- 
mands) may be given to their enunciation merely by modula- 

* Possibly the fastidiously critical in the use of terms, will take exceptions to this 
remark. But without wishing to provoke criticism, or to start the supposition that he 
is willing to handle words loosely, the author begs leave to remark, that all he means 
by the phrase, " the principles of good taste may vary," is, perhaps, expressed in the 
phrase, "good taste may vary." This last proposition, however, he maintains to be 
true : and its correctness, he believes, is folly established by some of the illustrations 
which follow. One man may enunciate a series, sentence, or passage, in a masierly 
and an elegant manner, and another may pronounce the same in a manner equally 
elegant and chaste, though in a style widely different from the first ; and at the same 
time, it might defy all the laws of philosophy, of rhetorick, and elocution, to p.rov0 
vhich of the two has the advantage in elegance and accuracy of taste. 



Chap. 111. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 89 

tion and expression, or, m other words, by varying the tone and 
force of the voice, as it passes from one word to the other, with- 
out perceptibly varying the inflection : thus, " Exercise' and 
temperance' strengthen the constitution." 

It may be proper to add, however, that the rule is useful, as 
its observance will be sure to enforce a variety in the enuncia- 
tion of the two words, which, without it, might be pronounced 
in a disagreeable monotone : and, furthermore, its direction will 
suggest a very pleasing and natural variety, perhaps the best 
that can be given. 

Note 2. When a sentence closes with two single particu- 
lars, the first takes the rising, and the second, the falling, inflec- 
tion : Eg. " The constitution is strengthened by exercise' and 
temperance'." 

Observation. As it is necessary that this sentence should 
close with the falling inflection, or with that peculiar, falling 
vanish called a cadence, the principles of melody require, that 
the voice should rise on the last word but one of the closing 
series. Hence, this rule is based upon a 'principle of voca* 
utterance, and cannot be set aside by any notion of arbi- 
trary taste. 

Note 3. When three single particulars occur at the com- 
mencement of a sentence, the first and second may take the fall- 
ing, and the third, the rising, inflection : Eg. " Manufactures', 
trade', and agriculture', employ the greater portion of the hu- 
man species." 

Obs. Here it may be observed, again, that, although the 
three words, " manufactures, trade, and agriculture," ought not 
to have the same inflection of voice given to each, yet, whether 
the rising inflection should be given to the first, and the falling, 
to the second, or, vice versa, or whether they should be inflect- 
ed according to the directions of the rule, is a mere matter of 
taste. This may appear more obvious by reading the sentence 
successively, in the three following, different ways : 

" Manufactures', trade', and agriculture', employ the greater 
portion of the human species : 

" Manufactures', trade', and agriculture', employ the greater 
portion of the human species :" 

" Manufactures', trade', and agriculture', employ the greater 
portion of the human species." 

It may be proper to observe, however, in regard to the second 
of these readings, that, as the words "trade and agriculture,'* 
take the same inflection, it becomes the more important that the 



90 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

modulation given to each, should be varied, the one from the 
other. 

Note 4. When three single particulars occur at the close 
of a sentence, the first and third may take the falling, and the 
second, the rising, inflection : Eg. " Whatever obscurities may 
involve religious tenets, the essence of true piety consists in hu- 
mility , love', and devotion'." 

Obs. It may be useful again to caution the learner against 
the very common, but not very tolerable, err our of giving the 
voice too intense a downward slide on ordinary, unemphatick 
words which take the falling inflection. The purport and the 
propriety of this caution will appear more obvious to the unprac- 
tised student, if, in pronouncing the foregoing example, he be 
particular to observe, that a correct enunciation allows his voice 
to slide only half as loiv on the word " humility," (if he give it 
the falling inflection; which is by no means necessary,) as on 
the word " devotion," where the voice takes the intense, down- 
ward slide of a third, which belongs to the cadence. 

Note 5. When four single words form a commencing se- 
ries, the first and fourth may take the rising, and the second and 
third, the falling, inflection: Eg. " Metals', minerals', plants', 
and meteors', contain a thousand curious properties which are 
as engaging to the fancy as to the reason." 

" Proofs of the immortality of the soul may justly be drawn 
from the nature of the Supreme Being, whose justice', good- 
ness', wisdom', and veracity', are all concerned in this great 
point." 

Note 6. When four single words form a concluding series, 
the first and fourth may have the falling, and the second and 
third, the rising, inflection : Eg. " The four elements of which, 
according to the old philosophers, the material world is com- 
posed, consist of fire', water', air', and earth'." 

" He who resigns the world, has no temptation to envy', ha- 
tred', malice', anger', but is in constant possession of a serene 
mind ; he who follows the pleasures of it, which are in their 
very nature disappointing, is in constant search of care', solici- 
tude', remorse', and confusion'." 

Obs. It will readily be perceived, that similar observations 
may be applied to Rules 5 and 6, to those which were made in 
reference to the rules that precede them. Indeed, as the num- 
ber of particulars under these last two rules, is increased, so may 
the variety of inflections applicable to the particulars, be pro- 
portionately increased. It should be observed, however, that 
whatever may be the number of particulars in a simple series, 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 9i 

the last one in a commencing series, always requires the rising 
inflection, and the last in a closing series, if in a common affirm- 
ative sentence, the falling inflection. 

Note 7. When a long list of single words, forms a com- 
mencing series, they may be divided from the right into periods 
or groups of three words each : the last period may be read ac- 
cording to the direction of Rule 3, and the others, according to 
Rule 4, and the odd particulars, agreeably to Rule 1. Eg. 
" Gold', silver', copper', iron , and lead', are abundant in various 
parts of the western continent." 

" Cotton, coffee', sugar', rum 7 , molasses', spices', fruits', and 
drugs', are the common products of the West-Indies." 

" Love\ joy', peace', long-suffering', gentleness', goodness', 
faith', meekness', temperance', are the fruits of the spirit; and 
against such things there is no law." 

Note 8. When a long list of particulars forms a concluding 
series, a similar division into periods may be applied to them, 
and each period may be read according to Rule 4, and odd par- 
ticulars, agreeably to Rule 1 : Eg. " The science of elocution 
is noble', refined', elegant', pleasing", and useful', intricate', phil- 
osophical', and wonderful';" [but some of these rules are fool- 
ish', trifling', and unimportant'.] 

" The fruits of the spirit are love , joy', peace', long-suffering , 
gentleness', goodness', faith', meekness', temperance' : against 
these there is no law." 

COMPOUND SERIES. 

A Compound Series consists of two or more 
phrases or distinct members of a sentence, suc- 
ceeding each other in a similar construction. 

Note 1. When two or more phrases or members form a 
commencing, compound series, the last takes the rising inflec- 
tion, and all the rest, the falling. Eg. " To advise the ignorant', 
relieve the needy', comfort the afflicted', are duties that fall in 
our way almost every day of our lives." 

" The ignorance of the moderns', the scribblers of the age', 
and the decay of poetry', are the topicks of detraction with 
which a bard of our country makes his entrance into the 
world." 

Note 2. When two or more members form a closing, com- 
pound series, they all adopt the falling inflection, except the 
penultimate or last member but one, and this should have the 



32 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

rising : Eg. " Statues can last but a few thousand years', edifices 
fewer', and colours still fewer than edifices'.' 3 

" A discreet and virtuous friend relieves the mind v , improves 
the understanding , engenders new thoughts', awakens good res- 
olutions', and furnishes employment for the most vacant hours in 
life?' 

Observation. This last Note is an important one ; but this, 
the substance of the one preceding it, and of several others 
which occur under the head of the Simple Series, are compre 
hended in Rule 7, page 82. 

SERIES OF SERIES. 

The recurrence of two or more simple particu- 
lars, combined with two or more compound par- 
ticulars, and all united in forming a series of a 
sentence, constitute what is termed a series of 

SERIES. 

Note. When several members occur which are composed 
of similar or opposite particulars, and are divided into couplets 
or triplets, they may be enunciated singly according to the ap- 
propriate rules of a simple series, but, as forming, a whole com- 
pound series, agreeably to the rules applicable to the respective 
number and variety of compound particulars contained in the 
sentence. 

EXAMPLES. 

" For I am persuaded that neither death', nor life\ nor an 
gels', nor principalities', nor powers', nor things present', noi 
things to come', nor height', nor depth', nor any other creature', 
shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in 
Christ Jesus our Lord'." 

'• Those evil spirits who, by long custom, have contracted m 
the body habits of lust' and sensuality', malice' and revenge', 
and an aversion to every thing that is good', just', and laudable', 
are naturally seasoned and prepared for pain and misery'." 

REMARKS. 

This scheme of Mr. Walker's for arranging and classifying 
the various series of words, and of applying to them a syste- 
matick set of rules, certainly displays no little ingenuity, and 
cannot but be productive of some utility; but it is by no means 
a cause of regret to ascertain, on an examination of it, that 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 93 

most parts of it have no better foundation than the vivid fancy 
and delicate taste of its inventor. Nature would have dealt 
out her favours with a parsimonious hand indeed, had she al- 
lowed the human voice no greater scope in inflecting - the mul- 
tifarious and insurpassable variety of forms of expression, and 
modes of intonation, which occur in our language, than that 
prescribed by Mr. Walker's rules. 

But notwithstanding we may take great liberties with many 
oi the foregoing rules which attempt to regulate the inflections 
proper to be given to a simple series of Avords, it must have 
been observed by the judicious reader of the preceding, general 
development of this intricate and delicate subject, that many of 
the rules given for the regulation of the inflections of the voice 
— such, for example, as those which appertain to the closing in- 
flection of simple affirmative, negative, interrogative, and ex- 
clamatory sentences, as well as of declarative and conditional 
members of sentences, and so forth — have their foundation in 
the philosophy of vocal sounds and the principles of the lan- 
guage; and that, therefore, the laws which govern such inflec- 
tions, are as unchangeable as the laws of the Medes and Per- 
sians. Some of these rules, it is true, have their exceptions; 
but even these exceptions are controlled by principles and cir- 
cumstances that are easily revealed and explained. The amount 
of the matter is, then, that, in whatever light Ave view this sub- 
ject, the leading rules, together Avith their exceptions, which 
tend to regulate the inflections of the voice, merit the particular 
attention of him who AA^ould excel in the science of elocution. 
But their great importance may be more strongly enforced by 
adducing a feAv examples in Avhich it will appear, that a. wrong 
inflection Avill totally pervert the sense. 

aUESTIONS. 

What does the term Series denote in elocution 1 

What are the three general divisions of the Series'? 

In pronouncing a succession of words, should the tones and modula- 
tions of the voice always be varied % 

What is a Simple Series'? — Repeat and explain Note 1. 

What is said in Observation 1, under the notel What, in Obs. 21 
Repeat and illustrate Note 2 — also, the Observation under it. 

What is Note 3 1 

How, according to the Observation, can the example under Note 3, 
be varied in its inflections '? — Illustrate those variations. 

Repeat and explain Note 4. 

What is the caution contained in the Observation on Note 4 7 

Repeat and illustrate Notes 5 and 6. 

May the inflections applicable to the examples under these notes, also 
Oe varied from the prescribed form of the notes 1 — Shnw wherein. 



94 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Repeat and explain Note 7. — Also, Note 8. 
What is a Compound Series 1 
Can you illustrate Note 1, under if? 
Illustrate Note 2, and repeat the Observation under it. 
What constitutes a Series of Series 1 
Repeat the Note under this last head. 
Show how it applies to the examples which follow it. 
On what foundation rests Mr. Walker's scheme for inflecting the 
various series of words 1 

EXERCISES. 

Reading' and reflection' tend to expand the intellect'. 

Reading' and reflection' tend greatly to expand the intellect'. 

The intellectual powers are strengthened and expanded by 
reading' and reflection. 

Persecution', condemnation', and ridicule', awaited Galileo', 
Harvey, and Newton', for announcing three great physical 
discoveries'. 

Persecution', condemnation', and ridicule', were the reward 
of Galileo', Harvey', and Newton', for announcing to the world 
three of the greatest discoveries in physical science'. 

Persecution', condemnation', and ridicule', were lavished 
upon Galileo', Harvey', and Newton'. 

Drs. CulJen', Gregory', Blumenbach', and Magendie', assert 
that the mental faculties are connected with the brain'. 

Memory', imagination', judgment', and sentiment', may all be 
put to sleep by a few grains of a very common and simple drug'. 

There are four temperaments', accompanied by different de- 
grees of activity in the brain' — the lymphatick', the sanguine', 
the bilious', and the nervous' : — or, the lymphatick', the san- 
guine', the bilious', and the nervous' : — or, the lymphatick', 
the sanguine', the bilious', and the nervous'. 

CIRCUMFLEX. 

On page 67, the reader was informed, that, 

When both the upward and the downward 
slides of the voice occur in pronouncing a sylla- 
ble, they are denominated a Circumflex or Wave. 
It. is represented by the following mark (*), which 
is commonly placed over a vowel ; thus (a). 

The upward and the downward slides of the voice some- 
times extet-d to three or four variations on the same syllable; 
for which reason Dr. Rush has divided the circumflexes or 
waves into si?io-le, double, and continued; and subdivided them 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE, 95 

again into equal, direct, inverted, unequal, direct unequal, 
and inverted unequal. Although to the ordinary reader, these 
distinctions may be of little importance, yet some may be grat 
ified with an illustration of them. 

SINGLE, DOUBLE, AND CONTINUED WAVE. 

When the voice rises and falls, or falls and rises, only once 
upon the same syllable, the movement is called a Single Wave. 

When the voice rises and falls, and rises again, or falls and 
rises, and falls again, on the same syllable, the movement is 
called a Double Wave. 

When there are more than three parts to a circumflex, it is 
denominated a Continued Wave. 

EQUAL, DIRECT, INVERTED WAVE, &C. 

When the rise and fall of the voice on a syllable, are equal, 
the movement is called an Equal Wave. 

When the voice rises first, and then falls, in an equal wave, 
the movement is denominated a Direct Equal Wave. 

But when it falls first, and then rises, it is called an Inverted 
Equal W^ave. 

When the upward and the downward slides of the voice in a 
circumflex movement, are unequal, it is called an Unequal Wave. 

When the first part of an unequal circumflex, rises, it is de- 
nominated a Direct Unequal Wave. 

When the first part of an unequal wave, falls, it is called an 
Inverted Unequal Wave. 

ILLUSTRATION. 

" Hail ! beauteous stranger of the wood." 

If the word "hail," in this sentence, be uttered with a per- 
ceptible, downward ending, and with protracted or long quanti- 
ty, though without emphasis, the movement of the voice will 
display the direct equal wave of a second, or an up ware and 
downward slide of the voice through one tone. 

" High on a throne of royal state." 

If this line be pronounced in a similar manner, though with 
the rising inflection at the close of each word, it will exhibit 
the inverted equal wave of a second on the syllables " high," 
" throne," and " roy." 

" I said he was my friend." 

Let this sentence be slowly uttered, with long quantity, and 
such an emphasis upon "my" as to contrast it with your — 
friend, and the word my will show the direct equal wave of 



96 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

a third; that is, the voice will rise and fall through two 
tones. 

" Ah ! is he your friend, then ?" 

Let this last sentence be enunciated as a reply to the prece- 
ding, and with a somewhat brisk air of surprise, though with 
long quan'ity and a natural emphasis upon "your," and it will 
display the inverted equal wave of a third. 

If the sentence, " Yes, I said he was my friend," be reitera 
ted with a strongly positive emphasis upon my, and with ex- 
tended quantity, it will exhibit the direct equal wave of a fifth : 
or the voice will rise and fall upon the word through three and 
a halftones. 

"Is he solely your friend?" 

If the utterance of this interrogation be rendered more pier- 
cing, with long quantity and increased emphasis of surprise up- 
on the word your, it will show the inverted wave of a fifth. 

The direct unequal wave will be shown by pronouncing the 
word my, in the sentence, " I said he was my friend," in a 
strongly taunting and positive manner. 

If, in the sentence, " Is he your friend?" the word your be 
uttered with a strong expression of scorn and interrogation, it 
will exhibit the inverted unequal wave. 

" Pity the sorrows of a poor 6ld man'." 

If suspensive quantity and a plaintive tone be given to the 
words "poor" and "old," in the foregoing example, they will 
exhibit the direct wave of the semitone : and if the word " man" 
receive a plaintive expression and extended quantity, and the 
voice be made to rise on the second part of the wave, it will 
show the inverted wave of the semitone. 

EXERCISES. 

As a command over these elements, is of great importance 
to a reader or a speaker, a faithful exercise on the following, 
vowel sounds, will be found useful to the learner. The rising 
and falling slides of a second, third, fifth, and octave, and, also, 
the direct and inverted equal and unequal waves, may be given 
to a in a-\\, a in a-pe, a in &-rch, o in o-wn, ou in ou-t, ee in 
ee-\, oo in oo-ze, oi in yoy, i in i-sle, ew in o-eau-ty, n-eiv, and 
so forth. 

For a farther development of this subject, the reader is re- 
ferred to Dr. Rush's " Philosophy of the Human Voice," p. 21 (J.. 

EXERCISES. 

Who's he that wishes more men from England 1 
My cousin Westmoreland 1 No, my fair rousin ; 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 97 

If we are marked to die, we are enough 
To do our country loss ; and if to live, 
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
No, no, my lord; wish not a man from England. 

If the word " man," in this passage, be uttered with such 
an emphasis laid upon it as to contrast it with some antithetical 
word understood, but without any circumflex of the voice on 
the vowel a, the sense will be perverted, and the inferential 
meaning will be, that, although he should not wish a man, yet 
he might wish a woman, or a horse : whereas, if the direct 
equal wave of a third, with long quantity, be given to the word 
" man," the meaning and the beauty of the passage will be fully 
displayed. 

Example. — Mr. Addison relates. an anecdote of an ancient philoso- 
pher, who, after having invited some of his friends to dine with him, 
was disturbed by a person that came into the room in a passion, and 
overturned the dinner table: to which outrage the philosopher calmly 
relied, " Every one has his calamity ; and he is a happy man that has 
ni greater than this. 

Remark. — This quoted sentence ought to be read with an 
easy, free, and perfectly familiar intonation ; and then the em- 
phatick words, "calamity," "happy" and "this," as well as 
the word "man," will very happily display the circumflex 
movements of the voice. In short, the wave of the voice oc- 
curs, more or less, in the pronunciation of emphatick words. 
This subject will, therefore, be resumed under the head of em- 
phatick inflections. 

Examples in which a ivrong Inflection is capable of pervert- 
ing the meaning. 

The curfew tolls v , the knell of parting day v ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea'; 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way', 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me\ 

The author has marked the inflections and pauses in this 
passage, agreeably to this elocution which he thinks ought to 
be given to it. But who has not observed, that it is commonly 
read with the rising inflection and the suspending pause ap- 
plied to the word "tolls," in the first line? And who does not 
perceive, that such a reading would give the line a totally dif- 
ferent meaning from the correct one? It would change the 
character of the verb "tolls" from an intransitive to a transitive, 
and make the word " knell" an objective case to it, and more- 
over, render the line tame, and unpoetical ■ whereas, nothing 
can be more obvious, than that the writer designed the word 
9 



98 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

"knoll" to be in apposition with "curfew." for the last part 
of the line, is, literally, a mere repetition of the thought con- 
tained in the first part, but, figuratively, it is a new, and pictu- 
resque, and glowing image, altogether worthy the talents of the 
great poet who conceived it. 

Some, again, by confounding the number of lines in this 
stanza, with the number of members in the sentence, would 
close the second line with the falling inflection, under the mis- 
taken notion that the third line is the last member but one, at 
the close of which, according to the rule, the voice should take 
the rising inflection and the suspending pause. But, when 
justly considered, this sentence will be found to be composed of 
only three principal members. The first line is a compound 
member, the second, a simple, and the third and fourth lines, 
form another compound member. From this explanation, then, 
and by recollecting that the conjunction and is understood after 
the w T ord " lea," it must appear obvious, that that word should 
take the rising inflection, in accordance with Rule 7, page 82. 
And what chastened ear is there, that does not sanction this ap- 
plication of the rule 1 

From the foregoing observations, it is evident, moreover, that 
a misconception of the structure and character of sentences, 
would lead to a misapplication of the rules ; and that an inju- 
dicious or erroneous use of the rules, would be far more detri- 
mental to elocution than no use of them. 

One or two more selections from the same beautiful poem, 
(Gray's Elegy,) will elicit a few remarks that may be useful 
to the unpractised student. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command', 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise', 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land', 
And reed their hist'ry in a nation's eyes', 

Their lot forbade v ; nor circumscribed alone'; 

^heir growing virtues', but their crimes confined' ; 
forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne'. 

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind\ 

in tnis passage, a falling inflection of the voice is not allow- 
able, until it sweeps through the whole of the first stanza, pnd 
reaches the word "forbade," in the second: according to Ex- 
ception 2, to Rule 7, page 83. Although, without any great 
perversion of taste, the falling inflection might be made at the 
close of each of the first two lines, yet, were the voice to fall at 
the close of the last line of the first verse, as many a reader is 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 99 

in the habit of allowing it, the whole passage would thereby 
be converted into nonsense. 

Some might suppose, that the word "throne," at the close oi 
the last line but one in the sentence, requires, agreeably to Rule 
7, the rising inflection ; but the inflection of that word is con- 
trolled by the emphasis that falls upon it ; for which reason it 
should be inflected according to the 1st Exception to the Rule 
Approach and read' (for thou canst read') the lay' 
'Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn\ 

This example most strikingly illustrates the importance ol 
the rising inflection and suspending pause where the sense is 
interrupted and suspended, (as is the case at the word "read,") 
whilst the voice, in an under key, takes its flight through the 
parenthetical clause. To allow the voice to fall on the first 
" read," is to trample on the laws of common sense, and pu* 
the principles of elocution to the blush. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose', 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode\ 

(There they', alike', in trembling hope repose\) 
The bosom of his Father and his GodV 

[t seems to be the most natural to give the falling inflection 
to the word " abode," at the close of the second line, in this ex- 
ample ; but, as the sense, though apparently closed at that word, 
is actually interrupted by the parenthetical clause which follows, 
the meaning of the last hue, in which the word "bosom" is in 
apposition with " abode," might, possibly, be as clearly appre- 
hended, were we to give the rising inflection to the word 
"abode."^ 

The parenthetical clauses in this and the example next pre- 
ceding it, seem to call for a remark. In order to render the 
meaning, in any tolerable degree, perspicuous, in these two ex- 
amples, it is absolutely necessary, that these parenthetical 
clauses should be read, not merely in a lower tone or key, but 
in an intonation distinctly different in kind from that employed 
in pronouncing the other portions of the respective sentences 
in which they occur. 

The following passage from Addison's Cato, is presented 
with the punctuation in which it ordinarily appears in books, 
and with the inflections marked in conformity to that punctua- 
tion. It is an address of one of the sons of Cato to his brother, 

Remember what, our father oft has told us\ 
The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate', 
Puzzled in mazes and perplexed with errours v ; 
Our understanding traces them in vain', 
Lost and bewildered in the fi uitless seareh\ 



100 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

The comma at " intricate," and the semicolon placed after 
"errours," very readily cause the reader to mistake the con- 
nexion between the members of this passage, and, by making 
the rising inflection at "intricate," to unite the meaning of the 
third line with that of the second. A little reflection, however, 
will enable him to discover his mistake ; for no one would be- 
lieve, for a moment, that the great and the just Cato ever in- 
culcated into the minds of his sons so irreligious an idea as to 
tell them that " The ways of Heaven are puzzled in mazes and 
perplexed with errours." Although, to short-sighted mortals, 
they may appear "dark and intricate," yet, to say that they are 
"puzzled in mazes and perplexed with errours," is a profanity 
of which neither Mr. Addison nor Cato could have been guilty. 
But is not this the meaning of the passage ? Agreeably to the 
punctuation, most certainly it is. How, then, shall we clear up 
.the difficulty'? Simply by reversing the inflections and the 
pauses at the end of the second and third line. The meaning 
of the third line will then be connected with that of the fourth, 
and show the meaning of the poet to be, that it is our "under- 
standing," and not " Heaven," that is " Puzzled in mazes and 
perplexed with errours." 

The sense and beauty of the passage are restored by punctu 
ating and inflecting it in the following manner : 

Remember what our father oft has told us\ 
The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate v ; 
Puzzled in mazes and perplexed with errours', 
Our understanding traces them in vain\ 
Lost and bewildered in the fruitless search^: 
Nor sees with how much art the windings run', 
Nor where the regular confusion ends\ 

The following passage from Henry V. admits of a double 
meaning, according to the turn of the inflections: 

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me', 
Shall be my brother', be he e'er so vile N : 
This day shall gentle his condition\ 

Agreeably to this reading, that is, by giving the rising in- 
flection to the word "brother," and the falling to "vile," the 
conditional phrase, "be he e'er so vile," is connected in sense 
with the preceding part of the same line in which it occurs; 
whereas, by reversing these inflections, according to the direc- 
tions in the same passage as subsequently presented, the mean- 
ing of the phrase will be connected, as some think it should be, 
with the line which follows it. 



Dhap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. >0 

This story shall the good man teach his son\ 

And Crispian's aay shall ne'er go by , 

From this time to the ending of the world', 

But we and it shall be remembered v : 

We few', we happy few\ we band of brothers^; 

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me', 

Shall be my brother": be he e'er so vile', 

This day shall gentle his condition'; 

And gentlemen in England', now abed', 

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here\ 

And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks 

That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day\ 

Examples of this description might be multiplied without 
limit ; but it is presumed that enough have been brought for- 
ward to show the necessity of strict attention to the infieetions- 
of the voice, employed by one who would enunciate the senti- 
ments of others with accuracy and elegance. 

aUESTIONS. 

What is meant by a Circumflex or Wave] 

By what mark is it indicated 7 

Define a Single, a Double, and a Continued Wave. 

What is a Direct Equal Wave? — What, an Inverted Equal W.ive? 
What, an Unequal Wave] 

Please to explain the difference between a Direct Unequal, and ana 
Inverted Unequal Wave. 

Illustrate each of these Waves by examples. 

Can you illustrate these circumflex movements of the voice on.> the 
vowels a, o, ou, ee, ew, &c. 1 

Give some examples in which a wave of the voice is proper on some 
particular words. 

Can you cite and explain some examples in which an improper-in- 
flection presents a wrong meaning? 

Please to' read several of the examples under the head of " Promis- 
cuous Exercises," and explain the rules which apply to them. 

PROMISCUOUS EXERCISES. 

In reading the following examples, the pupil should be required, Bj. 
frequent trials and repetitions, not only to enunciate them with the great- 
est care and accuracy, but, also, to apply every Rule and every Excep 
tion agreeably to which the exercises are marked. 

Hypocrisy is the necessary burden of villany\ 
Affectation is a part of the chosen trappings of folly\ 
There is nothing more dreadful to an author than neglect. 
There is the modern infidel', who affects to deny the divine 
authenticity of the Bible. The devil don't deny it'. The m- 
fiilel has all the impudence of the devil', but not half the knowl- 
edge/. 

The fine arts look not so much to what is natural', as to 
9 # 



102 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

that which is agreeable' : nevertheless', they generally copy 
from nature'. 

We are troubled on every side', yet not distressed' ; perplex- 
ed', yet not in despair' ; persecuted', but not forsaken' ; cast 
down', but not destroyed'. 

To smile upon those we should censure', and to countenance 
such as are guilty of bad actions', is bringing guilt upon our- 
selves'. 

God hung out this sign [the Bible] from Heaven', . . . and 
retired'. 

At length the Great Spirit spoke to the whirlwind', ... and 
it was still'. 

If thy fellow approach thee', naked and destitute', and thou 
shouldst say unto him', "Depart in peace'; be you warmed and 
filled' ;" and yet', shouldst give him not those things that are 
needful to him', what benevolence is there in thy conduct' ? 
yea', rather', is it not hypocrisy' 1 

Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy', and 
pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope' ; who expect that 
age, will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficien- 
cies of the present day', will be supplied by the morrow', attend 
to the history of Rasselas', prince of Abyssinia'. . 

Example. — The Brigantines', even under a female leader', 
hi"i force enough to burn the enemy's settlements', to storm 
their camps', and', if success had not introduced negligence and 
inactivity', they would have been able entirely to throw off the 
yoke' : and shall not we', untouched', unsubdued', and strug- 
gling', not for the acquisition', but the continuance', of liberty' 
declare', at the very first onset', what kind of men Caledonia 
has reserved for her defence' ? 

Remark. — This last example is introduced for the purpose of illustra- 
ting, in the interrogatory portion of it, not only, that where several 
members succeed each other in which the sense is suspended, each must 
be closed with the rising inflection and the suspending pause, but, also, 
that, whatever may be the length of a question commencing with a verb, 
it is important always to close it with the rising inflection. 

EXERCISES. 

In the production of Washington', it does really appear as ii 
nature was endeavouring to improve upon herself, and that all 
the virtues of the ancient world', were but so many studies pre- 
paratory to the patriot of the new'. Individual instances', no 
doubt', there were' ; — splendid exemplifications of some single 
qualification'. Cesar was merciful' ; Scipio was continent' ; 



Chap. III. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. .03 

Hannibal was patient"' ; but it was left for Washington to blend 
ill these great qualities in one', and', like the lovely masterpiece 
of the Grecian artist', to exhibit', in one glow of associated 
beauty', the pride of every model', and the perfection of every 
master'. As a conqueror', he was untainted with the crime of 
blood'; as a revolutionist', he was free from any stain of trea- 
son ; for aggression commenced the contest', and his country 
called him to the command'. Liberty unsheathed his sword', 
necessity stained', and victory returned it'. 

Shall. I', too', weep 7 ? Where', then / , is fortitude^ 
And 7 , fortitude abandoned', where is man"? 
Place me where winter breathes his keenest air', 
And I will sing\ if liberty be there'. 

And what is friendship bat a name N 1 

A charm that lulls to sleep v 7 
A shade that follows wealth or fame' 1 
But leaves the wretch to weep v 1 
Oh', who can tell', save he whose heart hath tried', 
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide', 
The exulting sense\ — the pulse's maddening play', 
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way v ! 

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn v ; 

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save v ; 
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn v 1 

Oh', when shall day dawn on the night of the grave N 1 
See truth v , love\ and mercy', in triumph descending', 

And nature all glowing in Eden's first bl66rn v ; 
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending', 

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb\ 
At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour', 

I have mused in a sorrowful mood' 
On the wind-shaken weeds that imbosom the bower', 

Where the home of my forefathers stood\ 
All ruined and wild is their roofless abode', 

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree v ; 
And travelled by few', is the grass-covered road', 

Where the hunter v , and deer', and warriour trode\ 
If nature's revolution speaks aloud', 
In her gradation', hear her louder stilP. 
Look through nature v ; 'tis neat gradation all\ 
By what minute degrees her scale ascends* ■ 
Each middle nature joined at each extreme*, 
To that above it joined', to that beneauY. 
Parts into parts reciprocally shot', 
Abhor divorce\ What love of union reigns* I 
How beautiful is all this visible world* ! 
How glorious in its action and itself !' 
But we', who name ourselves its sovereigns', wd', 
Half dust*, half deity', alike unfit 



104 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

To sink or soar', with our mixed essence make 

A conflict of its elements', and breathe 

The breath of degradation and of pride", 

Contending with low wants and lofty will 

Till our mortality predominates", 

And men are' — what they name not to themselves', 

And trust not to each other\ 

Ah', me" ! the laurelled wreath that murder rears'', 

Blood-nursed', and watered with the widow's tears', 

Seems not so foul", so tainted', and so dread', 

As waves the nightshade round the skeptick's head\ 

What is the bigot's torch", the tyrant's chain" 7 

I smile on death", if heavenward hope remain'; 

But', if the warring winds of nature's strife', 

Be all the faithless charter of my life', 

If chance awaked', inexorable power'! 

This frail and feverish being of an hour' ; 

Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to weep', 

Swift as the tempest travels on the deep', 

To know delight but by her parting smile', 

And toil', and wish", and weep a little while', 

Th^n melt", ye elements'! that formed in vain' 

This troubled pulse and visionary brain" ! 

Fade", ye wild flowers" ! memorials of my doom" j 

And sink", ye stars' ! that -ight me to the tomb". 



CHAPTER IV. 



OF FORCE, ACCENT, AND EMPHASIS. 
FORCE. 

The terms loud and soft, strong and weak, are 
employed to express the various degrees of force. 

Particular care should be taken not to confound these terms 
with high and low. The latter are properly applied to the 
tones, or, more accurately, notes, of the voice. A mistake of 
this sort, might, therefore, lead one, when he designs to in- 
crease the force of his voice, merely to raise it to a higher 
pitch ; and thus, instead of producing the intended, louder and 
stronger sound, he would only give one more shrill. 

The term force, as applied to the utterance of syllables and 
words, has a meaning distinct from the term loudness, and, also, 
from that peculiar stress which is denominated emphasis. Force 
is nearly synonymous with energy. Energy in delivery, may 
not only be given to single syllables, like accent, and to singje 
words, like emphasis, but unlike accent and emphasis, it may 
be extended to whole sentences, and even to paragraphs. 

In regard to a proper loudness of voice, the first object of 
every person who reads or speaks to others, doubtless should 
be, to make himself easily and distinctly heard by all to whom 
be addresses himself. To effect this, he must fill with his 
voice the space occupied by the auditory. The volume and 
power of voice necessary to fill a given space, depend much on 
a proper pitch, as well as on the force and loudness; but far 
more, still, (as heretofore intimated,) on a clear and distinct ar- 
ticulation. It is a great mistake to imagine, that in order to be 
easily heard, and clearly understood, by those in the remote 
parts of a large room, a speaker must raise his voice to a high 
pitch. The variety of loudness, softness, energy, and feebleness, 
requisite for good delivery, falls within the compass of each 
key. A speaker may, therefore, render his voice loud or soft 
without altering his key: and by observing a distinct articula- 
tion, he will always be able to give the most body — the most 
volume of sound — to that pitch of voice to which he is accus- 
tomed in ordinary conversation. Whereas, by setting out on a 



106 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

higher key, he will allow himself less compass, and be likely 
to strain his voice before he closes his discourse ; and thus, by 
fatiguing himself, he will speak with pain: and "whenever a 
person speaks with pain to himself, he is heard with pain by 
his audienceP 

In the exercise of the voice, great economy should be ob- 
served in regard to the volume or amount of sound exploded, 
particularly by those whose vocal organs are impaired or en- 
feebled. One ought, therefore, never to utter a greater quan- 
tity of sound (if it is scientifick so to speak) than he can afford 
without any extraordinary effort. By keeping within these 
bounds, the organs of speech will be able to discharge their 
various functions with ease and energy. 

Attention to the following direction, will likewise be highly 
serviceable. If, before we pronounce a word or phrase which 
we wish to express in a very forcible manner, we make a pause, 
(generally a rhetorical pause,) and during the pause, draw into 
the lungs, a full inspiration, it will enable us to accomplish our 
object with great ease and effect. 

Our enunciation should be loud or soft, energetick, forcible, 
or feeble, according to the nature and design of the word, phrase 
or passage delivered. . 

EXAMPLES. 

Soft — Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows. 
Loud — But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 

The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
Energetick — Him the Almighty Power 

Hurled headlong from the ethereal skies 

"With hideous ruin and combustion, down 

To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 

In adamantine chains and penal fire. 
Feeble — But I am not now 

That which I have been — and my visions flit 

Less palpably before me — and the glow 

Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint, and low. 

ANALYSIS OF FORCE. 

The Force or Stress of the voice displayed in the utterance 
of syllables, consists of various qualities or characteristicks. It 
may be manifested at the commencement of a syllable, by an 
abrupt percussion, violently impressing the ear with a sudden 
loudness of sound; or it may commence with moderation, and 
advance with an increased swell of the voice to the middle oi 



Chap. IV. VANISHING FORCE OR STRESS. 107 

the sound or syllable, and then diminish to its close ; or the 
sound may be particularly marked with force at its termination, 
or at both ends, or equally throughout its whole length. To 
the suddenness with which a vowel element maybe exploded, to 
the gradually diminishing volume of voice that may take place 
in pronouncing a vowel with extended quantity, and to the final 
termination of its sound in a delicate vanish, the attention of 
the reader has already been called, In order to gain a clear 
understanding of the various kinds of force or stress, some 
knowledge of these elements, is indispensably necessary. 

RADICAL STRESS. 

The term Radical Stress, is given by Dr. Rush to that stress 
or sudden force that is frequently applied to the opening or com- 
mencing portion of sound given forth in pronouncing a syllable. 

Please to read again the illustration of radical and vanish- 
ing movement, and so forth, given on pages 25, 56, and 68. 

This kind of stress is much employed in expressing the an- 
gry passions, and all others associated with them; and, also, 
the emotions of hope, joy, exultation, positiveness, and so forth. 

Force, when appropriately and effectively employed, is a 
symbol of energetick feeling. It gives life and animation to 
discourse; and, on many occasions, becomes a powerful agent 
of oratory. 

The following words of Edward to Warwick, require a nig? 
degree of 

Radical Stress. — Guards, seize 
This traitor, and convey him to the tower: 
There let him learn obedience. 

VANISHING FORCE OR STRESS. 

As force is often applied at the beginning of a sound, so it is 
sometimes given at, or near, the termination of the sliding van- 
ish : and when thus applied, it is styled by Dr. Rush, a Van- 
ishing Stress. 

A striking exhibition of this kind of stress, will be made, if 
the student pronounce a vowel, or a consonant that admits of 
quantity, with moderate force, and protract the sound through 
the interval of a rising third or fifth, by observing', just at the 
termination of the vanishing movement, to give the sound, as 
it were, a strong and sudden jerk. 

This stress is frequently employed to make the concrete in- 
tervals of thirds and fifths in interrogation, more conspicuous, 
and is expressive of impatient ardour, surprise, complaint, fret- 



108 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



fulness, and the like. Hence it is often heard in the complaints 
of children, and of peevish persons. It is also distinctly marked 
in hiccough, as well as in that peculiarity of the Irish pronun- 
ciation of the English language, vulgarly called " Irish accent." 



COMPOUND FORCE OR STRESS. 

When force is applied at both ends of a sound or syllable, it 
is called Compound Stress. 

MEDIAN STRESS. 

When the sound of a long syllable, swells from its opening 
to the middle of it, and then diminishes to its close, the force 
applied, is styled by Dr. Rush, Median Stress. 

This kind of stress may be illustrated on the words hail, 
sole, name, heel, or on y, o, or I, and so forth, in the following 
manner : — let the voice open upon these syllables with moderate 
force, and gradually swell in volume as it proceeds till it be- 
comes full and conspicuous, and then let it diminish in the same 
gradual manner until it dies away in the ordinary vanish. 

This kind of stress may advantageously be practised on the 
direct wave of a second. Words emphasized with it, acquire 
an agreeable smoothness of sound. It is the appropriate em- 
phasis for syllables of long quantity, and, consequently, is much 
employed in all subjects of a dignified character. In the man- 
agement of this element, great delicacy is required, for, when 
natural] v displayed, it is but slightly marked 

ASPIRATE ELEMENTS. 

Those consonants called Atonicks, p, t, k, f, s, h, ivh, th, and 
sh, are denominated Aspirate elements, because they are uttered 
by a sort of whispering explosion of the breath, and with little 
or no sound in the throat. 

Some of the consonants, as well as the vowel elements, are 
commonly exploded without any aspiration. It is possible, 
however, to mingle aspiration, in various degrees, with all the 
vowel sounds ; and, indeed, to aspirate them completely by 
whispering them. 

Aspiration is much employed in expressing scorn, contempt, 
excessive anger, earnestness, and the like. What could be 
more expressive of scorn than the hissing employed in the 
theatre? Aspiration increases the mystery of a passage design- 
edly mysterious, as the following example will illustrate 

Then/irs£, with amazement, /air Imogine/ound, 
Tiisi a Granger* was placed by ker .tide : 



Chap. IV. accent. 109 

His air was terri/ick ; he uttered no sound ; 

He spoke not, he moved not, ^e looked not around, 

But earnestly gazed on the bride. 

ACCENT. 

Accent implies that peculiar force or stress of 
the voice which is given to a particular letter or 
syllable of a word, in order to distinguish it from 
the other syllables, and render its articulation 
more distinct and audible ; as in the word pro- 
mote, the stress must be laid on the letter o, which 
gives to the second syllable, mote, the accent. 

Evtry word of more syllables than one, has one of them ac- 
cented. With few exceptions, the placing of the accent on one 
syllable in preference to another, is determined entirely by 
custom. 

To promote euphony and distinctness in the utterance of a 
long word, a secondary '-accent is frequently given to one or two 
other syllables besides that which takes the principal accent. 
The acute accent — ' (the character employed in this work to 
denote the rising inflection of the voice) generally points to the 
vowel or syllable which takes the primary or principal accent ; 
and the grave accent — v (which is employed to denote the fall- 
ing inflection) points to the vowel or syllable which takes the 
secondary accent: thus, as ton ish "ment, tes ti mo' ni K al. 

Mere force or stress gives accent to short syllables ; as in the 
words tem'-^est, eWm'-inal, kat'-tery. 

But the accent given to long syllables, includes not only the 
effect of force, but also, the idea of time ; as hi the words kope'- 
ful, straji-gei, fee'-lmgly. 

As accent relates to the pronunciation of words, or parts of 
words, taken singly and separately, it does not legitimately 
come within the province of elocution, which has been defined 
to relate chiefly to the pronunciation of words taken succes- 
sively and collectively, and considered according to their relative 
dependance on each other for sense, The study of elocution 
presupposes, on the part of the student, a knowledge of ac- 
cent, as well as of orthography, and so forth. This subject, 
therefore, will be closed, by noticing two or three circumstances 
under which the accent of words is controlled by secondary 
causes, and thereby transposed. 

First, a change in the meaning of a word, sometimes changes 
10 



110 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

the place of its accent ; as, con jure, to practise enchantments ; 
con jure', to entreat ;— dss'-ert, a wilderness ; de sert', merit or 
dsmerit. 

Secondly, the place of the accent is sometimes changed by 
the change of the word from one part of speech to another. 
The nouns min'ute and com'pact, become mi nute'' and com- 
pact' when employed as adjectives. The nouns ab'stract, com'- 
pound. con'duct, di'gest, ex'tract, in'sult, object, reb'el, and so 
forth, change their accent when employed as verbs ; thus, ab- 
stract', com pound', con duct', digest', ex tract', in suit', object', 
re bel'. 

Thirdly, accent is sometimes deposed by its rival sister em- 
phasis ; as in the following examples, in which the former has 
to give place to the latter. In these and similar examples, the 
words in which the accent is transposed, have, it will be noti- 
ced, a partial similarity of form, and are used antithetically. 

EXAMPLES. 

There is a difference between giving and /o?*giving. 

He must increase, but I must decrease. 

What fellowship hath righteousness with ^^righteousness % 

He that ascended, is the same as he that descended. 

In some kinds of composition, ^/az^sibility is more essential 
,han probability. 

Cometh this blessedness, then, upon the circumcision only, 
or upon the w?zcireumcision also ? 

Some appear to make very little distinction between decency 
and mdecency, morality and immorality, re/igion and irreligion. 

aUESTIONS. 

Of what does chapter 4, treat % 

Bv what terms are the various degrees of force expressed'? 

What powers of. the voice are referred to by the terms high and low? 

Explain the difference of meaning between force and loudness. 

What should be the first object of him who speaks or reads to others'? 
How is this to be effected ? 

In order to be distinctly heard in reading, what pitch of the voice 
ought generally to be adopted 1 

What is said respecting a rhetorical pause 1 

Please to enunciate the examples which follow, agreeably to the di- 
rections given in the margin. 

How may force be manifested at the beginning, middle, and end of 
syllables, &c. 1 

What is meant by the term Radical Stress 7 

Read the example — Edward's words to Warwick. 

What is said of radical, and vanishing movement, on page 681 

What is denoted by Vanishing Stress 1— What, bv Compound Force 1 



Chap. IV. EMPHASIS. ill 

What, by Median Force? — Can you illustrate it? 
What is "meant by Aspirate elements or letters? 
Explain the aspirates in the poetick example. 
What is Accent? — On what words does it fall? 
Give examples of the secondary accent. 
What is said of accent on long syllables? 

What three circumstances sometimes transpose the accent on words ? — 
Read the examples which follow. 

EMPHASIS. 
By Emphasis is meant that still more forcible 
stress of the voice which is given to syllables, in 
order to distinguish the icords to which they be- 
long from others in the same sentence, than that 
stress which is denominated accent. 

Emphasis, in order to distinguish it from the less forcible 
stress which falls on single letters or syllables, called accent, is 
generally defined to be a forcible stress laid on icords ; but the 
following illustrations will show, that the peculiar percussion of 
the voice which goes by the name of emphasis, is generally 
given, like that called accent, not to several successive syllables 
of the same word, but to only one syllable. Its effect, however, 
when properly applied, is to render more significant and im- 
pressive the words to w T hich such syllables belong, than are the 
other words of the sentence. 

Although every one knows what is meant by emphasis, ac- 
cording to the common acceptation of the term, yet few possess 
that nice discrimination, that clear conception of an author's 
meaning, and that sound judgment, which are requisite in order 
to distinguish emphatical words from others, and to give each 
just such a degree and quality of force as will convey the mean- 
ing of what is uttered, in the most lively and striking manner. 
A few plain directions, therefore, which are calculated to assist 
the learner on these important points, will now be given : and 
first, in order to enable him readily to distinguish emphatical 
from unemphatical words, the following rules, if carried out in 
practice with discrimination, will be found far more serviceable 
than any others that can be formed. 

I. Emphasis is sometimes divided into the three 
following kinds, antithetick emphasis, emphasis 
of specification, and emphasis of enumeration. # 



* Professor Goodrich. 



.12 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

„*» ANTITHETICK EMPHASIS. 

RULE I. 

Almost every emphatick word may he known 
by its being contrasted, that is, used antithetically, 
with some other word or phrase, either ex- 
pressed or implied. 

EXAMPLES. 

Many persons mistake the love, for the prac-tice, of virtue, 
We ask ad-?;ice, but we mean appro-#&-tion. 
Sir, you were paid to fight against Alexander, not to rail at 
him. 

He that cannot bear a jest, should not make .one. 
I that denied thee gold, will give my heart. 

'Tis with omy judg-menis, as our ivaick-es ; none 
Go just SL-like, yet each believes his own. 

Remarks. — These examples clearly illustrate both the utility 
and the easy application of the foregoing Rule. The italicisea 
words or portions of words, show, that, when both parts of the 
antithesis are expressed, it requires but little discrimination to 
ascertain, for a certainty, to which words the emphatick force 
should be applied. Very often, however, it happens (as will 
soon be shown) that one part of the antithesis is understood, in 
which case it frequently requires no inconsiderable exercise of 
judgment to ascertain the emphatick word. 

Many mistake the emphatick word or words of a sentence 
by labouring to distinguish it or them from others, upon the 
false principle of laying the stress on such words as they con- 
ceive to be the most important in regard to meaning. A little 
examination of the foregoing, or, more especially, of the follow- 
ing, examples, will convince any one, that any such test of dis- 
crimination between emphatical and unemphatical words, will 
generally prove unavailing; -for the emphatick words are often 
(apparently, or abstractly or separately considered) the least 
consequential words in the sentence. 

EXAMPLES. 

One should be careful not to apply and, instead of or. 
He had the assurance to tell me that he could do it, when I 
very well knew he could not. 



Chap. IV. ANT1THETICK EMPHASIS. 113 

There is a difference between giv-'mg and for-giv'mg, be- 
tween sensibility and ir-ritability. 

Jesus saith unto her, Where are thine accusers ? Hath no 
man condemned thee % The woman answered, No man, Lord. 

Remarks. — These examples are sufficient to show, that any 
word may become emphatick, and even take a strong emphasis, 
when employed antithetically with another word. "The reason 
of this must be obvious to him who considers, that this very 
circumstance of a word's being employed antithetically ^.renders 
it important in the sentence in which it thus appears : and that, 
therefore, it requires that distinction which emphatick force is 
designed to give it. 

In the following examples, one part of the antithesis is im- 
•plied. 

EXAMPLES. 

Exercise and temperance strengthen an indifferent constitu- 
tion, [as well as a good one.] 

1 speak in the spirit of British law ; [and not merely accord- 
ing to the dictates of reason.] 

In thy sight, O Lord, shall no man be justified : [although, 
m the sight of men, many may be justified.] 

Proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host, 
That he who hath no stomach for this tight, 
May straight de-part : his passport shall be made, 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse. 
We would not die in that man's company. 

Remarks. — A corresponding, antithetical member to this 
last line, maybe supplied in the following, or some other, man 
ner : " We would not die in that man's company ; much less 
would we fight in it." Or, perhaps the antithesis will be ren- 
dered stronger, if constructed in the following manner : " We 
would not only, not fight with a coward, but we would not 
even die in his company." But, doubtless, the simplest way 
to explain the emphasis on " de-part" and " die" in this exam- 
ple, is, by applying the principle contained in Rule 2, on the 
next leaf — according to which, it would be styled emphasis oj 
specification. 

EXAMPLES. 

And when I was present with you, and wanted, I was charge- 
able to no man. 

On Linden, when the sun W9? low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
10* 



114 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

And dark as winter was the flow 

Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
But Linden saw an-oth-er sight, 
When the drum beat at dead. of night. 

Remarks. — The first sight, antithetically opposed to " another 
sight," mentioned in this last couplet, is described in the second 
ine of the first stanza : " All bloodless lay the untrodden snow." 

In the first of the foregoing- examples, the word " present" 
is contrasted with the implied idea of St. Paul's being then ab- 
sent from the Corinthians. His reminding them that he 
" wanted" when with them, seems to convey a tacit rebuke for 
their lack of liberality towards him, when he was freely devo- 
ting his time and labours for the good of their souls. An in- 
ferential, antithetical member, therefore, very naturally arises, 
somewhat in this manner: " I was chargeable to no man when 
I wanted, although I had a right to be chargeable to many, 
and to have had my reasonable wants supplied." 

Example. — " They brought to the Phar-isees him that afore- 
time was blind." 

Remark. — By turning to page 214, of this work, the reader 
will perceive that the word " Phar-isees" in the passage here 
quoted, is contrasted with the word " neigh-hours" which oc- 
curs in the preceding paragraph. Again, on the same page, 
we have the 

Example : — " They say unto the blind man sc-gain, What 
sayest thou of him?" 

Remark. — The Pharisees had al-read-y expressed thei? 
opinion of him. 

For numerous examples of emphasis founded on antithesis, 
the reader is referred to page 171, 214, and 266, and, indeed, 
to any of the selections in the latter part of this work in which 
the emphatical words are distinguished by Italick characters. 

It is worthy of remark, that sometimes one part of the an- 
tithesis is a single word, and the other portion, a phrase, or a 
member of a sentence, and that sometimes both parts consist of 
emphatick phrases or members. 

EXAMPLFa. 

Is he hon-est ; or will he se-cretly rob his neigh-hour of his 
good name ? 

To be, or not to be 1— that is the question — 

Whether 'tis nobler ir th* mind to suf-fer 

The slings and ar-rows of ' out-ra-geous fortune, 



Chap. IV. EMPHASIS OF SPECIFICATION. 

Or to take up arms against a sea of troubles, 
And, by op-pw-sing, end them'? 

Remark. — It is not to be understood, that the eimhatfr.k 
force falls in equal degrees upon every word or syllable here 
italicised. Although several emphatick words frequently suc- 
ceed each other, yet seldom, if ever, should any two or more 
words in succession^ receive precisely the same amount or 
weight of percussive force, any more than they should receive 
the same modulation of tone and inflection. Of the words dis- 
tinguished as emphatical, in the last of the preceding examples, 
doubtless the first that are contrasted, namely, " Suf-fer y ' and 
" take up arms" require the greatest stress, and "/or-tune" and 
" troub-les" the least, — a stress so slight, indeed, as scarcely to 
raise these to the dignity of emphatical words. 

EMPHASIS OF SPECIFICATION. 
RULE II. 

In the specification of particular facts, the prin- 
cipal words are always emphatick. 

EXAMPLES. 

True politeness is based upon sin-cer-ity: it flows from tin 
heart ; is equally fascinating in the co^-tage, the court, and the 
camp ; and is capable of soft-ening even an en-emj. 

I may be re-buked ; I may be ^gr-secuted ; I may be im- 
peached ; nay, im-^ms-oned, con-demned, and put to the rack ; 
yet noth-ing shall tear from me my firm hold on rzr-tue. 

Sir, we have done every thing that could be done to avert 
the storm which is now approaching. We have pe-^i-tioned ; 
we have re-mow-strated ; we have sw^-plicated ; we have pros- 
trated ourselves before the throne, and implored its interposition 
to arrest the ty-r<m-nical hands of the ministry and of parlia- 
ment. Our petitions have been slight-ed ; our remonstrances, 
have produced ad-di-tional vi-oleiace and m-sult; our supplica- 
tions have been disre-gard-ed ; and we have been spurned with 
con-tempt from the foot of the throne. 

Remarks. — In the first of the foregoing examples, antithetick 
members might be supplied in the following, or some other, 
manner: " True politeness is based upon sin-cer-ity, and not 
upon vie-tence : it flows from the heart, and not from the 
head" and so forth. In the second example, we might say, 
' Instead of being praised, I may be xe-buked ; instead of being 



116 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

pro-tfee/-ed, I may be persecuted" and so on. But, as this 

method of supplying one part of the antitheses, may appear a 
little strained, or far-fetched, it will doubtless be more judicious, 
and, certainly, far more easy, to test the emphatick words in 
constructions of this description, by the application of Rule 2. 

In reading the foregoing examples, the pupil should be very 
careful not to pronounce any two successive members with a 
monotonous sameness, as that would render his elocution fee- 
ble and insipid ; but a correct and spirited enunciation of them, 
or, at least, of the second and third examples, requires him to 
proceed with an increased degree of emphatick force, and a 
varied modulation, upon each successive member, so as to pro- 
duce a sort of climax. — Similar directions are applicable to the 
reading of the following 

EXAMPLES. 

Alexander.— what ! art thou the Thracian rob-bev, of 
whose exploits I have heard so much ? 

Robber. I am a Thra-cian, and a soZ-dier. 

Alex. A soZ-dier !— a thief, a plun-deiex, an as-s&s-sin ! the 
pest of the coun-tvy !- — I could hon-oux thy cour-age ; but I 
de-test, and must pun-ish, thy crimes. 

Robber. What have I done, of which you can complain % 

Alex. Hast thou not set at de-j^-ance my au-thor-ity ; vi-o\ated 
the publick peace ; and passed thy life in injuring the persons 
and prop-erty of thy fellow-sub-jects ? 

Robber. Alexander, I am your cap-tive : I must, therefore, 
hear what you please to say, and en-dure whatever punishment 
you may choose to m-fiict ; but my soul is un-ctw-quered : and 
if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free 
man. 

Remarks. — In these examples, the emphasis on " hon-our, 
cour-age, de-test, pun-ish, and crimes" "you" "hear, say, en- 
dure, and m-flict" u soul, all, and free" is antithetical; on the 
other italicised words, it is emphasis of specification. 

" You," is contrasted with other men, understood: thus, "I 
know that oth-er men may justly reproach me for my vile deeds; 
but what have I done of wdiich such a blood-thirsty tyrant as 
you can compiain?" 

The last example may be rendered thus : " I know you hold 
my bod-y in bond-age ; but my soul is un-co?i-quered." 

Remark. — It frequently happens, that several words in suc- 
cession, are emphatick, though in different degrees. 

Example. — " I now boldly proclaim it to this house as my 



Chap. IV. EMPHASIS OF ENUMERATION. 117 

deliberate opinion, that, if that law pass, our country will be 
J?. T J-ined: yes, ru-ined for-EV-er." 

EMPHASIS OF ENUMERATION. 
RULE III. 

Words used in counting or numbering, and, in- 
deed, all others, when repeated in a list, or as a 
set of examples , are emphatick. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The Cardinal Numbers ; as, One, two, three, four, five, 
twenty, one-hundred, one-thousand, eight-hundred, and thirty- 
five, and so on. 

2. The Ordinal Numbers : First, second, third, and so forth. 

3. Adverbs of Number : Once, twice, thrice. 

4. Adverbs of Order : First, secondly, thirdly, lastly. ■ 

5. Adverbs of Time : Now, already, before, hereafter, not yet, 

6. List of Prepositions : Of, to, for, by, with, in. 

7. Descartes, Stahl, Cabanis, and BichaC, Cuvier, Blumen- 
bach, Reil, and some others, admit of sensibility without con- 
sciousness. 

Remarks. — By pronouncing the words in the foregoing ex- 
amples, slowly and very distinctly, the reader will perceive that 
each requires a degree of percussive force, amounting to what 
is termed emphasis. 

Emphasis of Enumeration is likewise legitimately employed 
in the following, and similar 

EXAMPLES. 

If one man can do much good, if two men can do more, and 
if three can go far beyond two, what may we not expect three- 
hundred thousand to accomplish. 

In this work, I shall treat of the functions of man as divided, 
first, into vegetative, secondly, affective, and thirdly, intellectual, 

In the first chapter, I shall speak of sensibility ; in the 
second, of the relation between the affective and intellectual 
manifestations of the mind ; in the third, of the dependance of 
the affective and intellectual faculties on the bram ; in the 
fourth, of the plurality of the organs; and in the fifth and last 
chapter, of the intellectual faculties and their organs. 

Bart first, chapter fourth, section eighth, page twenty-ninth. 

Remarks. — Tn these examples, the emphatick force which 



118 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Dills upon "much, more, beyond," " vegetative, affective, mtej 
lectual," "sensibility, relation, dependence, plurality, intellect 
ual faculties, organs," and so forth, (though the words are no» 
marked as emphatick,) maybe styled emphasis of specification. 
according to Rule 2 ; and it would not be improper so to style 
the emphasis placed upon the marked w T ords, " one, two, three, 7 
"first, secondly, 7 ' 1 "second, third, fifth, last, 11 "fourth, eighth 
twenty -ninth, 11 and so forth ; but it is more precise and systemat 
ick to denominate the emphatick force given to these last-men 
tioned words, emphasis of enumeration, according to Rule 3. 

Again, though not so simple and easy, yet it would be 
neither impossible nor improper to explain the emphasis on 
all these words, according to Rule 1, as antithetick : thus, we 
might consider " two men" as forming a contrast with " one 
man," "three men," with "two," and so on. 

When we say, " One man can do much;" "Two can do 
more;" " In theirs* chapter;" and so forth, in the first place, 
the words one and two specify how many are alluded to, and 
first, specifies which chapter : hence, here is emphasis of speci- 
fication : and secondly, the phrases, " one man," " two men," 
"theirs/ chapter," and so forth, by specifying the particular 
number of men, and the ordinal rank of the chapter, contra- 
distinguish that number from any other number of men that 
might be supposed or mentioned, and that chapter from any 
other chapter, and thus indirectly form an antithesis between 
the number expressed, and an imaginary number understood. 

"This section is found in chapter fourth, page two-hundred 
and eighty-fifth ;" that is, "It is not found in chapter first, 
second., third, or any other chapter, but in chapter fourth ; and 
on page two-hundred and eighty-fifth, and not on page ninetieth, 
one- hundredth, two-hundredth, or any other page that you 
might imagine." 

" In the first chapter, I shall speak of sensibility ; and not of 
consciousness, irritability, or any other property of organick 
or animal nature." 

Illustrations of this kind, might be extended ; but it is believed 
that the good sense of the reader will render farther remarks, 
under this head, unnecessary. 

For examples of emphasis of specification, the learner is re- 
ferred to the words, "friend, ambitious, honourable ; captives, 
crown, refuse, know, love, cause, and mourn 11 "parchment, will, 
tears, mantle, fell, mutiny 11 and so forth, on pages 316 and 
317; and, also, to the w T ords, " child, husband, friend, lover, 
look, word, and action 11 on page 179. For examples of anti 



Chap. IV. EXAMPLES OF COMPOUND EMPHASIS. 119 

thetick emphasis, to pages 180, 205, 297, 298, 299, 300, 316, 
3 1 7, and to almost any other pages in the second part of this 

A\0"k. 

II. Emphasis is sometimes divided into Simple 
and Compound. 

SIMPLE AND COMPOUND EMPHASIS. 

When the emphatick force falls on only one 
word in a phrase, it is sometimes called Simple 
.Emphasis; but when it falls on more than one 
word in succession, it is denominated Compound 
Emphasis. 

examples — of Simple Emphasis. 

It is as natural to die, as to be born : to an infant, perhaps 
the one is as painful as the oth-er. 

Let an-oth-ev man praise thee, and not thy own mouth. 

O that those lips had lan-gxmge [as well as ex-^res-sion.] 
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, 
And the same hand that sow y -&, shall reap, the field. 

examples — of Compound Emphasis. 

Napoleon would have en-slave-d the land to make the o-cean 
free ; and he wanted only pow-er to enslave both. 

It is easier to forgive the weak, who have injured us, than 
the pow-ei'ful, whom toe have injured. 

Ped-encitry prides herself on being wrong by rules ; while 
com-mon sense is contented to be right with-owtf them. 

The contem-p/a-tion of death as the wa-ges of sin, is ho-ly 
and re-lig-ious ; but the fear of it as a trib-ute due to na-ture, 
is weak. 

In proportion as the ancestors of the profligate are distin- 
guished for their virtues, are the latter disgraced by their 
vices. 

O death ! the good man's dearest friend ; [but the bad man's greatest 
en-emy.] 

Ill fares the land, to hasV-mng ills a prey, 
Where wealth ac-cw-mulates, and men de-cay. 
Prin-ces and lords mayJlou?--ish, or may fade ; 
A breath can malce them, as a breath has made 
Bat a bold peas-anrry, their country's -pride, 
When once destroyed, can nev-erbe snp-pli'-d. 



20 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

It has been mentioned, that emphasis, considered in refer- 
ence to the different words on which it falls, admits of various 
degrees of percussive force, as well as of various qualities in re- 
gard to inflection and intonation. This difference in emphatick 
force, which, according to their meaning and rhetorical rela- 
tions, is demanded by the various, emphatick words of a sen- 
tence or discourse, has induced some writers to adopt another 
division of emphasis, distinguished by the terms Superiour and 
Inferiour. This division of the subject, however, like that of 
Simple and Compound, can by no means be regarded as re- 
markable for precision or scientifick accuracy ; but, as it is con- 
sidered by many who have not leisure for scientifick research 
and philosophical accuracy, as a convenient distinction, answer- 
ing all ordinary, practical purposes, it may be proper to notice it 

SUPERIOUR AND INFERIOUR EMPHASIS. 

The term Superiour Emphasis is applied to 
that stronger percussion of the voice which is 
given to some emphatick words than to others, in 
order to distinguish it from that less forcible stress 
which those others take, and which is thence 
called the Inferiour Emphasis. 

EXAMPLE. 

I am tar-tured even to MAD-ness, when I THINK 
Of the proud vic-iov. 

In reading this passage, which occurs in Addison's Cato, as 
the language in which Marcus expresses his indignation at 
the conduct of Cesar, the superiour emphasis falls on " think," 
which word is contrasted with the implied word hear or dis- 
course : thus, 4t I am tor-tured. even to MAD-ness, not only when 
I hear or dis-course of Cesar, but even when I THINK of 
him." A little attention to the passage, will also show, that" 
the word " madness" requires no very slight degree of percus- 
sive force, although a stress inferiour to that given to " think ;" 
and, likewise, that "tortured," "proud," and "victor," require 
each a degree of force still slighter than that laid upon "mad- 
ness," but stronger than that which is given to the other words 
of the sentence. 

Various degrees of emphatick force are also requisite in pro- 
nouncing the following sentences, in which the different degrees 
are imperfectly shown by the various sizes of type employed. 



Chap. IV. EMPHATICK INFLECTIONS. 121 

EXAMPLES. 

Justice is lame, as well as blind, among us. 

Tm-perance, by /or-tifying the mind and body, leads to 
HAP-piness: m-temperance, by e-rier-vating them, generally 
ends in Mis-ery. 

Hamlet.— Saw WHOM 1 

Horatio. — My lord, the king, y our /<z-ther. 

Hamlet.— The KING, my FA-ther? 

Ct:isius. — I denied you not. 

Brutus.— You. DID. 

Cassius. — I did not : he was but a fool 

That brought my answer back. 
STRIKE, as thou didst at CE-sar ! for I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov-dat him BET-ter 
Than ever thou lov-dst Gzs-sius. 

The distinctive powers and qualities of the voice, described 
on pages 107, and 108, under the heads of Radical, Van- 
ishing, Compound, and Median Stress, Dr. Rush has analyzed 
and explained, as applicable in expressing the various degrees 
and kinds of emphasis. The reader is therefore requested to 
•turn again to those pages, and attentively examine the analysis 
there given, before he proceeds to a perusal of the following, 
scientifick division of this subject. This brief specimen is 
chiefly taken from Dr. Barber's Elocution. 

Emphasis of Radical Stress. 

Examples. — Back to thy ^m-ishment, 

Ealse fu-ghive, and to thy speed add wings. 
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape 1 

Emphasis of Median Stress. 

Examples. — I warn you, do not dare to lay your hand on 
the constitution. 

Oh, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, 
That monthly chan-ges in her circled orb. 

Emphasis of Vanishing Stress. 

Examples.— Cassius. — I an itching palm ? 

Brutus. — The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its bead. 
Cassius. — C&as-tisement ! 

Emphasis of Compound Stress. 

Example. — Arm, warriours, arm for fight. 
i 



J22 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Emphasis of Quality. 

Examples. — 

IVe seen yon "weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And every time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 
I have no friend, save these alone, 
But thee — and one above. 

For a farther development of this subject, see Doctors Rash 
and Barber on Elocution. 

EMPHATICK INFLECTIONS. 

It has already been hinted, that those words which fall under 
an emphatick stress, generally require a peculiar and an ap- 
propriate inflection, which inflection, or, most commonly, wave 
of the voice, is not unfrequently controlled by the emphasis. 

Examples. — Did you say it? What can I do"? 

It is easier to say', than to do\ 

Remarks. — If these questions be pronounced in a natural and 
familiar manner, the words "say" and " do," will take, the first,. 
the rising, and the second, the falling, concrete slide of a third, 
with very little or no circumflex in the movements of the voice; 
but if the second example be properly pronounced, that is, if a 
strong emphasis be given to both "say" and "do," with the 
rising inflection given to the close of the first, and the falling to 
the last, the word " say" will take the inverted unequal ivave, 
and " do," the direct unequal wave. 

Examples. — Are they He-brews % So am T. Are they Is- 
raelites' ? So am /'. Are they the seed of ytZ>-raham' ? So am 
T. Are they the ministers of Christ' ? I am more'. 

Remarks.— Agreeably to the general rule, the pronoun " I," 
and the adverb "more," at the close of the four, simple, affirm 
ative sentences here presented, should take the ordinary, falling 
inflection: but to give them that inflection, in these instances, 
would render the elocution spiritless and insipid. The empha- 
sis, on these words, controls their inflections, and requires that 
" I" should take the inverted unequal wave, which closes with 
the rising vanish, and " more," the direct unequal wave. For 
the purpose of increasing the harmony of the sentences by in- 
troducing a pleasing variety, some might prefer, however, to 
give the " I" in the third sentence, the direct unequal wave. 

Examples. — Lord', if thou hadst been here', my brother had 
not died\ 



Chap. IV. EMPHATICK INFLECTIONS. 123 

If courage intrinsically consists in the defiance of dan-gei 
and pain', the life of the Z/i-dian is a continual exhibition of it\ 
I had a dream \ which was not all a dream'. 
Un-ea-sy lies the head that wears a crown. 
I rhyme for smiles, and not for tears . 

Noble Brutus 
Hath told you, that Cesar was am-£z-tious v ; 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault'. 
Yet BrvAxxs, says, he was arn-fo-tious v ; 
And' sure x , he is an M?i-ourable man'. 

Remarks. — A correct enunciation of these examples, wiL 
show the happy effect of emphasis in controlling the inflec- 
tions and modulations of the voice, and of increasing the beauty" 
and harmony of language. This will be particularly illustra- 
ted by a proper application of the circumflex movement on the 
words, "died," "pain," the second "dream," "crown," "tears,' 
"fault," "sure," "honourable," and "man." 

The Sense of a passage, dependant on emphasis. 

There can be but few who have not observed, that the mean 
ing of a sentence often depends on the appropriate or inappro- 
priate application of ernphatick force. 

Example. — Do you ride to town to-day'? Dou you ride to 
town to-day'? Do you ride to town to-day'? Do you ride to 
town to-day'? 

Remarks. — The four different answers suggested by a 
change in the place of the emphasis, according to the italicised 
words in this example, are too familiar to need illustration. 

If I say, "He can plead as well as any lawyer!," placing 
the emphasis on any, the assertion clearly implies, that the 
person spoken of, is a lawyer ; but if I transpose the ernphat- 
ick stress, and say, " He can plead as well as any law-yer\' n 
the inferential meaning is, that the person referred to, is not a 
lawyer. 

Example. — He discourses as religiously as any Methodist 
preacher'. 

He discourses as religiously as any Meth-o&\s\. preacher'. 

He discourses as religiously as any Methodist preach-er. 

Remarks. — The first of these readings, implies that the per- 
son referred to, is a Methodist preacher ; the second, that he is 
a preacher, but not a Methodist preacher ; the third, that he is 
a Methodist, but not a preacher. 

Examples — A crow is a large black bird\ 



124 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

A crow is a large black bird\ 

I saw a horse : /Zy through the window'. 

I saw a horse-fly through the window'. 

Since the world began', has it not been heard', that a man 
opened the eyes of one that was born blind" . . 

Since the world began', has it not been heard', that a main 
opened the eyes of one that was born blind'. 

Remarks. — By looking at the connexion of this last passage, 
as it is presented on page 215, one will readily perceive, that, 
according to this last reading of it, that is, by laying the stress 
on "man," it implies, that he who had been restored to sight, 
at the time he made this unanswerable reply to the unbeliev- 
ing Jews, himself considered Christ to be more than man, and 
;hat he wished to intimate to them this belief; whereas, he was 
only attempting to prove to them that Christ was not a sinner, 
for he did not yet know who or what Jesus was. Again, a 
correct enunciation of this sentence requires the emphatick 
stress to fall on "blind," on account of which, though the word 
closes a negative sentence, it takes the falling inflection, or, 
rather, the direct unequal leave, but, by laying the stress on 
"man," we naturally take it off of "blind," and thereby change 
its inflection to a rising. 

Examples of this description, might be indefinitely multi- 
plied ; but these few are doubtless sufficient to call the atten- 
tion of the learner particularly to this subject, and, it is hoped, 
to impress upon him its importance. 

The author is not unaware that many will differ from him 
on certain points of elocution, particularly those intricate and 
delicate ones which regard some of the peculiar inflections and 
waves of the voice, (especially when under the influence of 
emphatick force,) as well as in regard to the various degrees 
and qualities of emphatick stress. It has been already hinted, 
that, although most things pertaining to this subject, may be 
regulated by fixed principles and rules, yet, on some points, we 
have no better standard to go by than good taste — a standard 
so loosely seated, that it is liable to be much justled about, ac- 
cording to the judgment, and fancy, and caprice of the respec- 
tive individuals who lay their hands on it. But the most fruit- 
ful ground of objection to the author's views, he apprehends, 
will arise out of a misconception of them, or, at least, an un 
skilful or erroneous application of many of his directions. 
Doubtless many a one who will take exceptions to his direc- 
tions for reading particular words or passages, would readily 
coincide with him, and approve of his taste and manner, were 



Chap. IV. EMPHATICK INFLECTIONS. 125 

they to hear him. enunciate those examples. But, be this as it 
may, he wishes it to be distinctly understood, that, in matters of 
taste, as well as in those higher endowments of the mind which 
pertain to the judgment, he by no means considers himself 
infallible. 

QUESTIONS. 

What is Emphasis? — Explain the difference between it and Accent? 

What are the three kinds of emphasis first mentioned ? 

What is the first? 

Rule by which to distinguish emphatick, from unemphatick, words. — 
Give examples. 

Are emphatick words always the most important in sense ? — Examples. 

Give examples in which one part of the antithesis is implied. 

Is a phrase or member of a.sentence ever antithetically employed with 
a single word? — Give examples. 

Repeat Rule 2. — Please to read all the examples which follow. 

Please to look at the Remarks, and explain the method by which 
antithetick members might be supplied to these examples of emphasis 
of specification. 

What is said of a monotonous sameness in pronouncing two or more 
successive members ? 

Read the dialogue between Alexander and the Robber, according to 
the directions given, and repeat the Remarks which follow. 

What is the Rule for Emphasis of Enumeration?— Read all the ex- 
amples which follow it, according to the directions in the subjoined 
Remarks. 

Please to read the next set of examples, and explain them according 
to *he Remarks subjoined. 

What is the distinction between Simple and Compound Emphasis? 

Please to read the examples which follow, and explain them. 

What is the difference between Superiour and Inferiour Emphasis?— 
Give numerous examples, and illustrate them. 

Please to illustrate the emphasis of Radical, Median, Vanishing 
and Compound Stress, and also, emphasis of Quantity. 

Illustrate some emphatick Inflections. 

Are the inflections of the voice ever controlled by emphasis? — Illus- 
trate by examples, some of the emphatick Waves. 

Give exa'mples in which the meaning depends on the emphasis. 

What is the standard of accuracy in elocution? 

riease to read the numerous examples which follow, and apply the 
rules for the emphasis and the inflections adopted. 

fT^It may be proper to remark, that, in answering these questions, 
as well as those in the foregoing chapters, the learner will be permitted 
(more or less, according to the discretion of the teacher,) to make use 
of the book. 

EXERCISES. 

The teacher cannot be too urgent in cautioning the pupil against the 
very common err our of not exploding emphatick words with sufficient 
energy and force. A bold, full, and strong emphasis adds more than 
any thing else to expression and effect in delivery. 
11* 



126 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

C*m-fidence is a plant of slow growth'. 

The young are slaves to nov-e\iy\ the old', to cus-tom*. 

To improve the golden moment of opportunity', and catch 
the good that is with-m our reach', is the great art of life'. 

In order to know a man', we should observe how he gains 
his object', rather than how he los-es it'. 

That an author's work is the mirror of his mind', is a posi- 
tion that has led to very er-ro-neous con-clu-sions\ If Satan 
himself were to w r rite a book', it would be in praise of mr-tue'; 
because the good would purchase it for -use, and the bad', for 
osten-^-tion'. 

All who have been great and good wiih-out Christianity', 
would have been much greater and better with it'. 

The opinions prevalent in one age', "as truths above the reach 
of controversy', are confuted and rejected in &xi-oth-eT' , and rise 
again to reception in re-mo-ter times'. Thus', on some sub 
jects', the human mind is kept in mo-tion without prog-ress 
Thus', sometimes truth and er-rour', and sometimes contra-r* 
eties of errour', take each other's place by reciprocal in-ra-sion 

Jesus saith unto him', Thom-as', because thou hast seen me 
thou hast be-/zet i e-d' : blessed are they that have not seen me', 
and yet have believed'. 

Sirnon, son of Jo-nas', lov-est thou me"? 

Yea', Lord', thou knovi-esi that I love thee'. 

It is safer to be at-tacked by some men', than to be \}Xo-tect- 
ed by them'. 

O', you hard hearts v , you cruel men of Rome* ! 
Knew ye not Pora-pey'l 
And do you now strew flowers in his way 
Who comes in triumph over Pompey's blood/ ? 

'Tis hard to say', if greater want of skill' 
Appear in wri-lmgf, or in judg-ing', ill* : 
But, of the two', less dangerous is the offence'' 
To tire our pa-iience', than mis-lead our sense* ; 
Some few in that', but num-hers err in this 1 ", 
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss*: 
A fool might once him- self alone expose N ; 
Now', one in verse makes many more in prose 1 ". 

Some place the bliss in «c-tion*, some', in ease" ; 
Those call it pleas-nre'' , and con-tent-menV, these* : 
Some', sunk to beasts', find plcas-uve end in pain" ; 
Some', swelled to gods', confess even vm-tue vain': 
Or wi-dolent', to each extreme they fall', 
To trust in e-^-ery thing', or doubt of alt. 
Who thus define it', 3ay they more or less' 
Than this, that Aap-piness is Aap-piness'l 



Chap. IV. EMPHATICK INFLECTIONS. 127 

Antonio. — "Weir, Shylock', shall we be beholden to you'? 

Skylock. — Seignior Antonio', many a time', and oft', 
In the Rialto you have ra-ted me 
About my mon-eys K , and my w-sanees v : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug v ; 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe'. 
You call me'. . . misbe-Zie-ver', c^-throat dog\ 
And spit upon my Jewish gabardine"*; 
And all for use of that which is my own". 
WelT, then v , it now appears' you need my help". 
Go to', then", you come to me', and you say', 
" Shylock', we would have rao?i-eys\" You say so'; 
You', that did void your rheum upon my beared, 
And foot me', as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold': . . . mon-eys is your suit\ 
What should 1 say to you' 1 Should I not say', 
' Hath a dog'. . mbn-ey' 1 is it ^os-sible', 
A cur . . can lend three-thou-s^uA. dtiC-als' V or', 
Shall I bend I6w y , and in a fond-man's key', 
With 'bated breath', and whispering Awm-bleness', 

Say this', 

" Fair, sir', you spit on me on Wednesday last'; 
You spurned me such a day'; another time 
You called me'. . . DOG'; and for these couMe&ies 
I'll lend you thus much mo?i-eys\" 

I conjure you by that which you pro-/ess', 

(Howe'er you came to know it',) ara-swer me'; 

Though you untie the winds and let them fight 

Against the church-es y ; though the yesty waves 

Confound and swallow navi-g-a-tion up'; 

Though bladed corn be lodge-d, and trees blown down*; 

Though castles topple on their warder's heads* ; 

Though palaces and pyramids do slope 

Their heads to their foun-DA-tions' ; though the treasures 

Of nature's germins tumble alto-,ge£/i-er', 

Even till de-struc-tion SICK-en' ; <m-swer me 

To what I ask you'. 

This last passage, the sublime and terrible adjuration of Mac 
beth to the witches, is marked agreeably to the direction of Mr. 
Walker, as in accordance with the manner of pronouncing it 
adopted by the inimitable Garrick, namely, to adopt the falling 
inflection at the close of each member except the last but one, 
and to give the inflection a degree of emphatick force, increas- 
ing in strength from the first member to the sixth. By such 
an enunciation, the whole climax will be most beautifully diver- 
sified, and its effect greatly heightened. 

Before taking leave of this subject, the author deems it prop- 
er to caution the learner against the danger of his attaching 
either too much, or too little, importance to the rules laid down 
in this work. Of the great advantages resulting- from a clear 



128 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

understanding, and a happy application, of the rules for inflect- 
ing, emphasizing, and so forth, in the mind of him who thor- 
oughly investigates the suhjei-:, there can remain no doubt; 
but, should a reader or a speaker rely too much on the formal 
application of principles and rules, and suppose that, without 
entering deeply into the nature of the sentiments, passions, and 
emotions which he attempts to express, these principles alone, 
are sufficient to inspire him with eloquence, or even elegance, 
in delivery, there is great danger of his being actually tram- 
melled by them, and of their producing, instead of a happy, an 
exceedingly ill, effect. Emphasis and emphatick inflections 
are governed mainly by sentiment, and associated more or less 
with passion or emotion. The language of passion is energet- 
ick and bold, and requires the reader or speaker to enter with 
feeling into the sentiments which he utters. Therefore, in the 
application of the rules for inflection and emphasis this impor- 
tant idea should constantly be borne in mind. 



CHAPTER V 



OF TIME, AND RHETORICAL PAUSES. 



TIME. 

The varieties of movement in utterance, are 
expressed by the terms long and short, rapid, 
precipitate, quick, slow, and moderate. 

General Remarks. 

A distinct articulation is promoted by a moderate movement 
in pronunciation. In general, therefore, this movement is the 
best. A due degree of slowness in delivery, by the longer and 
more frequent pauses which it allows the reader or the speaker 
to make, affords great assistance to his voice, enables him to 
swell his sounds with greater force and melody, and gives 
weight and dignity to his subject. A rapid pronunciation, on 
the contrary, is apt to confound all articulation, and obscure the 
meaning. 

It may not be improper, however, to caution the reader 
against the opposite extreme of pronouncing too slowly. A 
lifeless, drawling manner, which allows the minds of the hearers 
to outspeed the reader or speaker, will inevitably render his 
performance insipid and fatiguing. Hence, he who would 
seek to please, to persuade, to instruct, must carefully avoid 
both extremes, and adopt that variety of movement which the 
nature of the sentiment delivered, seems to require. The ef- 
fect of an ordinary discourse may be greatly increased, by pro- 
nouncing phrases and short passages that will bear it, much 
more rapidly than others. 

EXAMPLES. 

Hlow — A needless Alexandrine ends the song', 

That', like a wounded snake', drags its slow length along\ 

First march the heavy mules securely slow', 

O'er hills', o'er dales', o'er crags', o'er rocks they g:\ 

Remote', unfriended', melancholy', slow', 

Or by the lazy Scheldt', or wandering Po', 



ISO ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Or onward 7 , where the rude', Corinthian boor'', 
A gainst the houseless stranger shuts the door'; 
Or where Campania's plain forsakf n lies', 
A weary waste expanding to the skies' ; 
Where'er I roam', whatever realms to see', 
My heart', untravelled', fondly turns to thee x : 
Still to my brother turns', wilh ceaseless pain', 
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain\ 

Quick — Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain', 

Flies o'er th' unbending corn', and skims along the main\ 

There was a sound of revelry by night', 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then' 
Her beauty and her chivalry*, and bright' 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men* : 
A thousand hearts beat happily v ; and when' 
Musick arose with its voluptuous swell', 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spoke again* ; 
And all went merry as a marriage bell*: 
Slow — But hush* ! hark* ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell\ 
Moderate — Aurora now', fair daughter of the dawn', 
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn', 
When Jove convened the senate of the skies', 
Where high Olympus' cloudy tops ariseY 
The sire of gods his awful silence broke', 
The heavens attentive', trembled as he spoke* : 
Celestial states*, immortal gods'! give ear v ; 
Hear our de-cree*, and rev-erence what you hear*. 

As nature delights to indulge herself in variety in all her 
works, she has bountifully bestowed this privilege upon man ; 
and in nothing is it more conspicuously displayed than in the 
science of elocution. Here, this " spice *of life" grows on every 
twig. Here, he is permitted to render even variety itself more 
various. Here, by an appropriate modulation of his voice, by 
a bappy adaptation of its tones and its various degrees of force, 
stress, and movement, to the nature of his subject, he rises in 
his art to the highest point of excellence. 

The foregoing remarks on time, are, perhaps, of too general 
a character to please the scientifick reader ; but it is apprehend- 
ed, that, with most persons, a minute and critical development 
of this subject, would be passed by with indifference. Hence, 
the former maybe of some service, where the latter would prove 
unavailing. Although the movements of the voice in reading 
and speaking, are susceptible of being as exactly measured as 
in singing, and may be strictly regulated by rule, yet the adop- 
tion in practice of any set of rules that might be laid down for 
this purpose, would necessarily lead to a stiff and formal ex- 
actitude in delivery, far less endurable than the most reckless 
indifference in regard to time and measure. To readers in 



Chap. V. of time. 131 

general, therefore, an exercise of good taste and judgment, in 
regard to the varieties of movement proper to be adopted on dif- 
ferent occasions, is lar more important than all the assistance 
they can possibly derive from rules. It requires nothing more 
than common observation to perceive, that the proper degrees 
of quickness and slowness, no less than of loudness and softness, 
highness and lowness, and so forth, are. to be regulated by the 
quality of the style, and the nature and turn of the sentiments. 
Who does not possess acumen enough to know, that gay and 
animated thoughts, sparkling and lively description, and easy, 
flowing narration, require a more accelerated movement than 
authoritative, dignified, sublime, grave, or pathetick sentiments? 

QUANTITY. 

The term Quantity, as applied to a letter or a 
syllable, is used to denote the time that is occu- 
pied in pronouncing it. It is commonly consid- 
ered either as long or short. 

A vowel or a syllable is long, when the accent is on the 
vowel ; which causes it to be slowly joined in pronunciation 
with the letter which follows it; as, Fall, bale, mood, house, 
feature. 

A syllable is short, when the accent is on the consonant ; 
which causes the vowel sound quickly to unite with that of the 
succeeding letter; as, Bonnet, ant, hunger, pity, antlck. 

It is generally estimated, that a long syllable requires double 
the time of a short one in pronouncing it : thus, Mate and note, 
should be pronounced as slowly again as mat and not. 

The term Quantity, is also sometimes employed to denote, 
not only the time, but likewise the amount of volume or ful- 
ness of sound, in which syllables, words, and even sentences, 
are uttered. But this extended sense of the term includes many 
particulars which are treated under the heads of force, modu- 
lation, and so forth. 

Dr. Rush applies the terms long and short to the time em- 
ployed in the utterance of syllables, relatively considered in re- 
spect to each other ; and the terms quick and slow, he refers to 
the utterance of any succession of words considered in the ag- 
gregate, such as phrases, sentences, or larger portions of a dis- 
course. 

The common distinction of syllables into long and short, is 
neither definite, nor fully illustrative of their character for the 



132 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

quantities or times of syllables exhibit various and undistm- 
guishable shades of difference, from the shortest, which end 
with the abrupt elements, such as pit, ap, to those that allow 
the greatest prolongation in oratorical expression, namely, those 
ending with a tonick or a subtonick element ; such as pay, go, 
note, de-gree, corn-pile. 

Dignified and deliberate discourse, awe, reverence, doubt, 
and grief, require slow time : gayety, cheerfulness, anger, and 
eager argument, and, generally, parenthetical clauses, demand 
a quick time or utterance. 

There is not a greater fault, nor one more prevalent, among 
readers and speakers, than a neglect to protract the sounds of 
the tonick elements. In, the enunciation of dignified and delib- 
erate discourse, especially, the importance of giving the long 
concrete to such elements as admit and require it, cannot be too 
strictly regarded by him who wishes to attain that commanding 
power over language which is calculated to please, to impress, 
and to excite the admiration of his hearers. 

Hence, it may not be improper again to present this subject 
in the form of a 

RULE. 

The protracting or lengthening of all such ton- 
ick and subtonick elements as will admit of it, 
adds greatly to distinctness of articulation, and 
expression in delivery. 

EXAMPLES. 

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day 

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array. 

Along the banks where Babel's current flows, 

Our captive bands in deep despondence strayed, 

While Zion's fall in sad remembrance rose, 

Her friends, her children, mingled with the dead. 

Oh, Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country, save! 

Ts there n6 hand on high to shield the brave? 

Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 

And freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell! 

O, sailor boy, sailor boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay, 

Unblessed and unhonoured, down deep in the main* 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

Cassius is a-weary of the world: — 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother ; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
Set in a note book, learned and coimed by rote, 



Chap. V. RHETORICAL PAUSES. 133 

To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
The spirit from my ej/es! 

Remarks. — In reading- composition of a grave, solemn, or 
pathetick cast, in which slow time is required, as in the prece- 
ding examples, the application of the foregoing Rule, is highly- 
important, especially in exploding the long vowels in emphat- 
ick words; but, in ordinary composition, the vowel sounds 
admit of less protraction, as in the following 

EXAMPLES. 

To the intelligent and virtuous, old age presents a scene of 
tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetites, of well-regulated affec- 
tions, of maturity in knowledge, and of calm preparation for 
immortality. 

If the show of any thing, is good, the reality of it is better : 
it is often as troublesome to support the pretence of a good 
quality, as to possess it. 

QUESTIONS. 

Of what does chapter 5, treat"? 

By what terms are the varieties of movement in utterance, expressed 1 

"What is said of a moderate, a rapid, and of too slow, a movement 1 

Pronounce the poetick examples which follow. 

What is said of variety in movement'? — What, of the exercise of 
judgment and good taste in elocution 1 

Please to define and illustrate the term Quantity. 

What is generally held to be the difference between a long and a short 
syllable 1 

How does Dr. Rush apply the terms long and short, quick and slow 1 

Have syllables various degrees of length % — Please to illustrate this 
by examples. 

What kinds of discourse should we enunciate in slow, and what, in 
quick time'? 

What is said about protracting the long vowel or tonick elements 1 

Repeat the Rule, and read the Examples and Remarks which fol- 
low it. 

RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

A Rhetorical Pause is one not dependant on 
the grammatical construction of a sentence, but a 
pause made merely to enable the speaker to pro- 
nounce a preceding, or a succeeding, word or 
phrase in a peculiar tone, or with uncommon 
force. The shortest Rhetorical Pause is indica- 
ted by tivo dots, thus (. .) ; a longer pause, by 

12 



134 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

three dots, (...)> an d a pause still longer, by 
four, ( ). 

When justly made, rhetorical pauses tend greatly to heighten 
the effect of a passage. They may, in general, be better regu- 
lated by good taste, tlum by any set of rules. _ 

Example. — "Alexander wept" "The great and invincible 
Alexander . . wept at the fate of Darius." 

Remark. — No grammatical pause is allowable between a 
nominative and its verb, unless they are separated by an inter-, 
vening adjunct of considerable length or importance. Hence, 
in the sentence, " Alexander wept," no pause is required be 
tween the nominative and the verb ; but, 

RULE I. 

When the nominative has an adjunct prefixed, 
and the verb, an adjunct affixed, a pause is neces- 
sary between them ; as, " The great and invinci- 
ble Alexander . . wept at the fate of Darius." 

Remark. — If the unpractised student be made to understand, 
that, in this last example, the phrases in Ilalicks, constitute the 
adjuncts, he will readily perceive the importance and the ap- 
plication of the Rule. 

EXERCISES. 

Masterly excellence . . is the fruit of genius . . combined 
with great industry. 

But small the bliss . . that sense alone bestows, 
And sensual bliss . . is all that nation knows. 

Whilst some affect the sun, and some, the shade, 
Some . . flee the city, some, the hermitage, 
I paint the gloomy horrours of the tomb. 
The appointed place of rendezvous, where all 
These travellers . . meet. 

The design and application of the ordinary points or stops, 
are too well known to require, in this place, any particular no- 
tice or discussion.* It may be proper to remark, however, 
that no one who applies these points with discrimination and 
judgment, ever considers anyone of them as a sign for pausing 
through a given or determinate length of time ; but they are 

* For a brief, and, at the same time, comprehensive and practical, system of Punc- 
tuation, the reader is respectfully referred to the author's " English Grammar in famil- 
iar Lectures," page 209, and onward. 



Chap V. RHETORICAL PAUSES. 135 

regarded as relative symbols for pausing, or, in other words, 
as signs employed to denote, not only the place for pausing, 
but. also, the relative time between one pause and another. 
Hence, the proper length of every pause, depends entirely on 
the structure of the passage, and the nature of the sentiments, 
enunciated. Wherever the composition and the sentiments ad- 
mit of a rapid or an accelerated movement of the voice, the 
pauses, in general, should be shorter than in those instances in 
which a slower movement is required. 

Example. — The lawyer, the stranger, and the lady, all be- 
came friendly, social, and witty over their wine. 

Remark. — It must be obvious to every one, that the appro- 
priate pauses in this example, are much shorter than would be 
allowable in the following 

Examples. — Men, brethren, and fathers, hearken : the God 
of glory appeared unto our father Abraham, when he was in 
Mesopotamia. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; 
and be silent, that you may hear. 

A good, a great, a brilliant man, may fall a victim to power ; 
but truth, and reason, and liberty, must fall with him. 

She sobbed, and sighed, and turned her weeping eye 
To th' lorn, lost, lonely object of her love. 

It should, therefore, be borne in mind, that the arbitrary 
marks or signs called points, are not to be considered as indic- 
ative of the precise nature and length of the respective pauses 
which a good elocution demands ; but these, as has been already 
remarked, are to be regulated by the nature and character of 
the sentiments uttered. 

Grammatical pauses have respect to the utterance of Ian 
guage in such a manner as merely to make the meaning intel- 
ligible ; but rhetorical pauses contemplate something more: 
when happily and skilfully applied, their effect is to heighten 
the beauty and meaning, and increase the force, of the senti- 
ments delivered. 

Rhetorical pauses may be still farther indicated by 

RULE II. 

A nominative noun, when unaccompanied by 
an adjunct, generally requires a slight pause be- 
tween it and its verb; as, " Religion . . claims 
the first place in our hearts: reason . . has an 
equal demand on our heads." 



136 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLES. 

Industry . . is the guardian of innocence. 

Prosperity . . gains friends, and adversity . . tries them. 

America . . is full of youthful promise; Europe . . is rich in 
the accumulated treasures of age: her very ruins . . tell the 
history of times gone by, and every mouldering stone . . is a 
chronicle. 

Secrecy . . has been well termed . . the soul of all great de- 
signs. 

Courage . . is incompatible with the fear of death ; but every 
villain . . fears death : therefore, no villain . . can be brave. 

Some . . place the bliss in action, some, in ease ; 

Those . . call it pleasure, and contentment, these. 

Beauty, thou pretty plaything ! dear deceit ! 

The grave . . discredits thee : thy charms . . expunged, 

Thy roses . . faded, and thy lilies . . soiled, 

What hast thou more to boast of 1 

Remarks. — In those places distinguished by the dots, in the 
foregoing examples, it would be improper to insert any one of 
the points of punctuation ; yet nothing can be more evident to 
a chaste ear, than that a short pause in each of these places, 
tends to present the meaning in a clearer and more striking 
point of view than it would be without such rhetorical pause. 

In the following sentence from Pope, it will be perceived 
that no grammatical pause is required immediately after the 
word "is,*' yet, in order to bring out the meaning at the close 
with full energy and effect, a good reader would not fail to 
take advantage of the rhetorical pause, by throwing it in be 
tween the words "is," and "his." 

Example. — On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what 
principally strikes us, is . . . his wonderful in-VEN-tion. 

The pause here described, as well as those indicated by the 
dots in the following examples, are usually denominated Em* 
phatick Pauses. 

emphatick pause. 

An Emphatic!* Pause is a rhetorical pause, 
occurring either immediately before, or after, 
some striking thought is uttered, to which thought 
the speaker wishes to direct the special attention 
of his hearers. 

EXAMPLES. 

But in Rome, the same vices, the same loss of learning, vir- 



Chap. V. versification. 137 

tue, and love of country, succeeded as in Greece: her generals 
and soldiers fought, her senators and magistrates made and en- 
acted laws, for . . soR-did considerations ; and Rome, from a 
republick, became an empire, relinquished hei literary emi- 
nence, her virtue, and her liberty, declined . . . and FELL. 

And, where the future mars or makes, 

The soul shall glance o'er all to be, 
While sun is quenched, or system breaks, 

Fixed ... in its own eternity. 

Remarks. — In this last example, the effect will' be increased 
by dropping the voice after the word " fixed" to an under-key. 
The effect is, also, sometimes wonderfully heightened by chan- 
ging the key-note on the emphatick word itself, and, more espe- 
cially, by protracting the sounds of the tonick elements. 

The happy application of rhetorical pauses, requires the ex- 
ercise of no small degree of judgment and good taste ; and 
when thus applied, they prove faithful and powerful auxiliaries 
in good delivery. No one of common discrimination, can but 
perceive, for example, the happy effect of the rhetorical pauses, 
as indicated by the dots, in the following examples, although an 
ordinary reader w T ould pronounce them without any such pauses. 

Examples. — 

No useless coffin . . enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we bound him ; 

But he lay . . . like a warriour taking his rest . . . 
With his martial cloak around him. 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
But . . left him alone . . . with his glory. 

The foregoing illustrations are designed merely to awaken 
an interest in the mind of the learner, and to direct his attention 
to this important subject — a subject in which he may find am- 
ple scope for the advantageous exercise of his oratorical powers 

POETRY AND VERSIFICATION. 

Poetry is the language of passion, or of enli- 
vened imagination. 

Versification, in English, is the harmonious 
arrangement of a particular number and variety 
of accented and unaccented syllables, according 
to particular laws. 

Rhyme is the correspondence of the sound of 
12* 



J 38 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

the last syllable in one line, to the sound of the 
last syllable in another: as. 



There sea-bora gales their gelid wings ex% 
To winruw fragrance round the smiling land. 

Blank Verse consists in poetical thoughts ex- 
pressed in regular numbers, but without the cor- 
respondence of sound at the end of the lines which 
constitutes rhyme ; as, 

The waters sl^pt: night's silvery veil hung low 
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled 
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, 
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. 

Poetical Feet consist in a particular arrange- 
ment and connexion of a number of accented and 
unaccented syllables. They are called '.feet, be- 
cause it is by their aid that the voice, as it were, 
steps along through the verse in a measured pace. 

All poetick feet consist either of two, or of three, syllables; 
and are reducible to eight kinds ; four of two syllables each, 
and four of three, as follows: 

A Trochee has the first syllable accented, and the last un- 
accented; as, Hateful, pelting: 

Restless mortals toil for naught ; 
Bliss on earth in vain Is sought ; 
Bliss, a native of the sky, 
Never wanders. 

An Iambus has the first syllable unaccented, and the last ac- 
cented; as, Betray, consist: 

The seas shall waste, the skies In smoke decay, 
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
But flx'd his word, his saving power remains; 
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns. 

A Dactyle has the first syllable accented, and the last two 
unaccented ; as, Labourer, possible : 

From the low pleasures of this fallen nature. 

An Anapcest has the first two syllables unaccented, and the 
last accented ; as, Contravene, acquiesce : 

At the close of the day when the hamlet Is still, 
And mortals the sweets of iorgetfulness prove, 



Chap. V. MANNER OF READING POETRY. 139 

When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, 
And naught but the nightingale's song In the gro\ r e. 

The Spondee ; as, amen : a Pyrrhick ; as, on the — tall tree * 
an Amphibrach ; as, Delightful: a Tribrach; as, Nu-merable. 

In English versification, some of these feet are much more 
common than others ; but not unfrequently we meet with several 
kinds introduced into the same piece of composition. This de- 
velopment of poetick numbers, also evinces the copious stock of 
materials at the command of the English versifier : for we are 
not only allowed the use of all the ancient, poetick feet, in our 
heroick measure, but we have duplicates of each kind, agreeing 
in movement, though differing in sound, and which make dif 
ferent impressions on the ear — an opulence peculiar to oar lan- 
guage, and one that may be the source of a boundless variety. 

By looking again at the foregoing definitions, the young 
reader will perceive, that the essential qualities or characters 
ticks of poetry, consist not, as is too often supposed, in harmon- 
ick numbers, or feet, or rhymes, but in a peculiar kind of sen- 
timent and conception, called poetick thought. The peculiar 
nature of poetick thought, however, is not to be learned from 
definition or description, any more than countenance is, but by 
observation — by attention to the conceptions, thoughts, senti- 
ments, and language of the best poets. Hence, unless the 
thought is poetick, all the ornaments of poetick dress — the 
paraphernalia of numbers, arrangement, and rhythm, • cannot 
elevate it to the dignity of true poetry. We, therefore, much 
more frequently meet with verses than with poetry. At pres- 
ent, however, it is not the author's purpose to discuss the qual- 
ities and merits of poetry, but merely to make a few remarks 
on the 

MANNER OF READING POETRY. 

The foregoing directions for acquiring a just and a happy 
elocution, have been chiefly applied to the enunciation of prose: 
and, although most of them are equally applicable to the read- 
ing of poetry, yet, in the reading of verse, and particularly 
rhyming verse, some peculiarities arise out of the nature of the 
composition itself, which seem to require a brief notice. 

OF POETICAL PAUSES. 

There are three kinds of pauses brought into 
% equisition in the elegant enunciation of poetry : 
ftrst, Sentential or Grammatical Pauses, or those 



MO ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

which merely mark the sense ; secondly, Rhe- 
torical Pauses, or those employed for the purpose 
of producing oratorical effect ; and, thirdly, Har~ 
?uonick Pauses, or such as are demanded by the 
melody and harmony of the numbers, and the pe- 
culiarity of the rhythm. 

Harmonick pauses are sometimes divided into the Final 
pause, and the Ccesural pause. These sometimes coincide with 
the sentential and the rhetorical pauses, and sometimes they 
are independent of them. 

In rhyme, the Final Pause takes place at the 
end of the line, marks the measure, and shows 
the correspondence of sound between the rhy- 
ming syllables. 

EXAMPLES. 

But where to find the happiest spot below, 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know 1 
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, 
His first best country ever is at home. 
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind. 

Remarks. — In reading these examples, it will be noticed, 
that the final pause, at "below" and "roam," coincides with 
the sentential, but that, at the word "find," it does not. The 
final pause is so important in rhyme, even when it does not 
coincide with the sentential, as to merit another example : — 

Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Remarks. — The final pause at " complain," takes (as it always 

does when not in alliance with the sentential pause) the rising 

inflection, and, in order to produce its proper effect, must be 

very slight. This pause also occurs at the words " then," 

1 right," and "when," on page 130. 

In regard to the application of the final pause in reading 
blank verse, nothing can betray a greater want of rhetorical 
*aste and philosophical acumen, than the directions of Mr. Mur- 
ray, and others,* who recommend its adoption at the close of 

• Amonu; those who recommend the adoption of the final I pans e in blank verse, are 
Lowtn, Johnson, Sheridan, Karnes, Blair, and others equally distinguished for learn- 
ing and talents. 



Chap. V. MANNER OF READING POETR I4l 

every line, whether it coincides with the sentential pause or 
not. The following is an example which they bring forward 
to illustrate their absurd notions on this point. 

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world, and all our wo, 
With loss of Eden, till one greater man 
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 
Sing, heavenly muse ! 

To say that the final pause applied to "fruit," "taste," and 
"man," in this example, would serve "to mark the difference 
between prose and verse," or to say that, unless we "make 
every line sensible to the ear," we mar the melody, and sup- 
press the numbers of the poeu, is all nonsense. Although poetry 
has much to do with numbers, and feet, and melody, yet, what 
have these trappings of poetry, or poetry itself, to do with any 
particular number of Tines or feet? May not four feet be just 
as poetick as five ; or fifteen feet, as poetick as fifty ? What 
has the ear to do, then, with any particular number of feet? 

The truth is, the distinctive difference between the poetry of 
blank verse and prose, depends on no such slender principle as 
that here referred to : but it rests on a much stronger, and z 
far more elevated, basis. The poetry of blank verse, like that 
of rhyme, depends primarily on the majesty, and beauty, and 
poetick character of the thought ; and secondarily on the 
imagery and the harmony of the numbers. The application of 
the final pause, then, at the end of a line in blank verse, (ex- 
cept when it coincides with the sentential pause,) is just as ab- 
surd as it would be at the end of a line in prose ; but the app" 
cation of this pause in rhyme, has its peculiar and happy effect, 
which has been already described. By turning to pages 126 
and 127, and by applying this pause at the words " skill" and 
"offence," and by omitting it in pronouncing the words " fight," 
"waves," "slope," "treasures," and "me," the propriety and 
force of these remarks will be sufficiently apparent. 

C^SURAL PAUSE. 

The CLesural Pause divides the line into equal 
or unequal parts. 

In heroick verse, it. commonly falls on the fourth, fifth, or 
sixth syllable. 

EXAMPLES. 

The bursting heart" may pour itself in prayer. 
Round broken columns" clasping ivy twined. 



142 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

I have been touched, with joy" when on the sea. 
Outstretched he lay" on the cold ground" and oft 
Looked up to heaven. 

In this last example, the line is divided into three portions 
by two caesuras: in the following, it is divided into four por- 
tions, by the introduction of one csesural, and two Demi-Ccesu- 
ral pauses, which are indicated by the single acute accent (') : 

Warms' in the sun" refreshes' in the breeze; 
Glows' in the stars" and blossoms' in the trees.; 
Lives' through all life" extends' through all extent; 
Spreads' undivided" operates' unspent. 

The regularity and harmony of numbers, and the sameness 
of sound in pronouncing rhymes, strongly solicit the voice to a 
sameness of tone; and tone, unless directed by a judicious ear, 
is apt to degenerate into a song; and a song in elocution, is, to 
one of refined taste, of all things the most disgusting. In order 
to avoid this unendurable sing-song or chant, in enunciating 
poetry, the best precaution that can be given, is, for the reader 
who is guilty of it, to forget, as it were, that he is pronouncing 
verses, and to adopt the easy and natural style which would be 
just in reading prose. 

QUESTIONS. 

What is a Rhetorical Pause? — Give an example. 

Repeat the Rule respecting the adjuncts of the verb and nominative. ■ 
Illustrate and explain it. 

What is said of" the pauses denoted by the common points or stops 1 

Give examples of short, and of long, pauses. 

What is the difference between grammatical and rhetorical pauses 1 

What is the second Rule for rhetorical pauses 1 

Please to read and explain the examples which follow. 

Define the emphatick pause. — Explain it by examples. 

What is Poetry S 

Please to define Versification, Rhyme, and Blank Verse. 

Define Poetical Feet, and explain the eight kinds. 

Wherein consist the essential qualities of poetry 1 

What are the three kinds of poetical pauses 1 

Illustrate and explain the final pause. 

Is the final pause at all requisite in reading blank verse t 

On what does the poetry of blank verse depend 1 

Define and illustrate by examples, the caesural pause — also the demi< 
cajsural. 

PROMISCUOUS EXERCISES. 

In the following examples, those words in which the tonick and sub- 
tonick elements ought to be prolonged, are distinguished by accented 
vowels ; thus, a, e, i, o, and so forth. 



Chap. V. REMARKS ON READING. 14* 

The christian' . . does not pray to be delivered from' . . glory', 
hut, from' . . VAiN-glory'. 

Men will wrangle for religion'; write for if ; fight for it' ; 
die ior it' ; any thing but' . . . live for it\ 

We often despise a thing', because we do not know if ; and 
we will not know it', because' . . we despise it'. 

A great man in the country', is but a small man in the 
city\ 

There is nothing so baleful to a small man', as the shade of 
a great one', particularly the great man of a city . 

It is an honour to a man to cease from strife ; but every 
fool' . . will be intermeddling'. 

Counsel in the heart', is like deep water ; but a man of un- 
derstanding' ', will draw it 6ilt\ 

Contemporaries' . . appreciate the man', rather than the 
merit'; but posterity' . . will regard the merit', rather than 
the man'. 

Most people are more anxious to' . . lengthen life', than to' . 
improve it'. Hence', the diurnals' . . give us ten thousand re- 
cipes to live' . . Ion g , for one' . . to live' . . icell' ; and hence', 
too', the use of the present', which we have, is thrown away 
in idle schemes for abusing the future', which we may not 
have. 

Rejoice', O young man', in thy youth" ; and let thy heart' . . 
cheer thee in the days of thy youth', and walk in the ways of 
thy heart', and in the sight of thine eyes" : but knoiv thou', that 
for all these things' . . God will bring thee into judgment. 
Therefore', remove sorrow' . . from thy heart', and put away 
evil' . . from thy flesh' ; for childhood and youth' . . are vanity 

Shylock. Three thousand ducats" : — well'. 

Bassanio. Ay', sir', for three months". 

Shy. For three months : — well'. 

Bas. For which', as I told you', Antonio shallbe bounoV. 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound" : — well'. 

Bas. Will you oblige me' ? . . Shall I know your ansioer' ? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months', and Anto 
nio' . . bound". 

Bas. Your answer to that\ 

Shy. Antonio is a good man'. 

Bas. Have you heard any imputation to the contraiy ? 

Shy. Ho', no ; . . no', no" ; . . no" ; my meaning in saying 
that he is a good man!, is', to have you understand me', that he 
is sufficient': yet'. . his means are in supposition'. He 
hath an argosy bound to Tripolis" ; another', to the Indies". 1 



144 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



understand', moreover', upon the Rialto', that he hath a third 
at Mexico, a fourth for England" : and other ventures he 
hath\ squandered abroad'. But' . . ships' . . are but boards' ;- 
sailors' . . but men. There are tad-rats' and water-mts" ; 
water-thieves', and land-thieves" : I mean', pirates" : and then', 
there is the peril of waters", tvmds', and rocks". The man is', 
notwithstanding', sufficient". — Three thousand ducats" : — 1 
think I may take his bond! . 

If hinderances obstruct thy way', 

Thy magnanimity display', • 
And let thy strength be seen'; 

But O'! if fortune' . . fill thy sail' 

With more than a propitious gale', 
Take half thy canvass in\ 

Alas'! alas'! doth hope'.. . deceive us'? 

Shall friendship', love' — shall all those ties' 

That bind a moment', and then leave us', 
Be found again where nothing dies'? 

Oh'! if no other boon were given' 
To keep our hearts from wrong and stam', 

Who would not try to win a' . . heaven', 
Where all we love', shall live again' 1 
Oft when yon moon' . . has climbed the midnight sk^-', 
And the lone seabird' . . wakes its wildest cry', 
Piled on the steep', the maniack's fagots burn' 
To hail the bark that never can return' ; 
And still she waits', but scarce forbears to weep', 
That constant love can linger on the deep'. 
The tyrant' . . has fallen' : he hath met his just doom*: 
Go forth to the mount': bring the olive-branch home', 
And rejoice"*, for the day of our freedom' . . is come\ 
Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer by this son of York' ; 
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house', 
In the deep bosom of the ocean' . . buried\ 
Now are our brows' . . bound with victorious wreaths* ; 
Our brui-sed arms' ... hung up for monuments' ; 
Our stern alarums' . . changed to merry meetings' ; 
Otir dreadful marches' . . to delightful measures'.* 
Grim-visaged war' . . hath smoothed his wrinkled front N ; 
And now', instead of mounting bar-bedt steeds', 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries', 
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute\ 

Remarks. — In order to do a thing well, we should attempt to 
do but one thing at a time. The foregoing examples bear so 
great a variety of oratorical marks, indicative of their just enun- 

" Dances. t Armed. 



Chap. V. REMARKS ON READING. 145 

ciation, as to render it impossible for the tyro in elocution to 
attend to them all at the first reading. The author suggests, 
therefore, the propriety of the pupil's attending, in his first 
reading of these exercises, merely to the correct orthoepy, and 
a distinct articulation, of the words. In his second reading, 
let him attend particularly to a proper modulation and inflection 
of them. In his third reading, let his attention be solely direct- 
ed to the emphasis and rhetorical pauses requisite to be observed 
in a just enunciation of the examples. In his fourth and fifth 
readings of these passages, let him give those words containing 
the accented vdwels, that full and " voluptuous sivell" and prol- 
ongation of sound which a rich, deep, and harmonick intona- 
tion imperiously demands. In reference to the explosion and 
protraction of the tonick and subtonick elements, let him not be 
afraid to get his mouth off, nor to open his throat ; but, as na- 
ture has been bountiful in bestowing upon us organs capable of 
producing soft, smooth, and graceful, musical, powerful, and 
expressive sounds, and as art has been ingenious and wise in 
the contrivance of language so admirably adapted to the happy 
exercise of the vocal powers, let him give these organs full 
play, and make the most of the words which he utters. 

When the learner shall have read these examples five or six 
times over, attending, according to the directions, to only one 
thing, or, at most, to two things, at each reading, he will be 
prepared to enunciate them with his attention directed to all 
the various marks appended to the examples, as he goes along. 
It is presumed that no teacher will expect either improvement 
or a happy performance on the part of his pupil, unless he him- 
self pronounce each sentence or paragraph in his own most 
eloquent and masterly manner, before the pupil is allowed to 
utter it. 

These examples are designed to illustrate particularly, first, 
the importance of protracting the tonick and subtonick elements 
with a full volume and melodious swell ; secondly, the impor- 
tance and proper application of rhetorical pauses ; and, lastly, 
the final pause in rhyming verse. This lastnamed pause takes 
place at the words "ties," "given," and "burn," in the second 
and third of the poetick examples ; but it will be observed that, 
at the words " discontent" and " chamber," in the last example — 
which is blank verse — no such pause is requisite. 

The pupil should be cautioned against placing a stress upon 
any of the vowel sounds that require prolongation, except when 
hey occur in words really emphatick ; and, aiso, agawat per- 
13 



146 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

verting them; that is, giving a long sound to a broad or a 
flat sound, or the reverse. 

In the foregoing examples, the most important one as an 
exercise for the student, is the Dialogue; as it forcibly illus- 
trates the great difference in time and quantity which ought to 
be observed in enunciating different kinds of composition. The 
greater portion of words uttered by the Jew, should be pro- 
nounced more than twice as slowly as those spoken by Bas- 
sanio. The long quantity on the phrase, " Three thousand 
ducats," and in the inverted, unequal wave on the word "well," 
should amount to a drawl. The paragraph commencing with 
" Ho, noV requires a quicker movement, and a more animated 
intonation. 

The closing paragraph in blank verse, also demands a very 
slow movement of the voice. 



CHAPTER VI. 



OF RHETORICAL ACTION. 

In a rhetorical sense, Action seems to imply 
those characteristicks of delivery included under 
the terms Gesture, Attitude, and Expression of 
countenance. 

This important part of good delivery, is much less regarded, 
and, consequently, much less cultivated, by the moderns, than it 
was by the ancients. A just and an elegant adaptation of every 
part of the body, and of every expression of the countenance, to 
the nature and import of the subject one is delivering, may be 
considered, however, as too essential a part of oratory to be 
passed by unnoticed. 

As more or less action must necessarily accompany the 
words of every speaker who delivers his sentiments in earnest, 
as they ought to be in order to move and persuade, it is of the 
utmost importance to him that that action be appropriate and 
natural — never forced and awkward, but easy and graceful, ex- 
cept where the nature of the subject requires it to be bold and 
vehement. 

The prescribed limits of the author, however,. permit him 
to present only a mere sketch of the outlines of this important 
subject, leaving it to the dictates of good sense and cultivated 
taste to fill them up. 

OF GESTURE. 

Gesticulation and expression of countenance, are the lan- 
guage of nature ; and. as they spring from the heart and the 
feelings, when legitimately called forth, they convey a language 
that reaches the heart. But because it is urged, that gestures 
must be natural, it is not hence to be inferred, that they must 
be the spontaneous efforts of nature, unaided by art or culti- 
vation. In this, as well as in those things which relate to the 
cultivation of the vocal powers, we call in the aid of art, not to 
pervert, but to refine, to exalt, to perfect nature. No one thinks 



148 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

of becoming skilled in dancing, or in vocal or instrumental 
musick, or in mathematicks, or logick, without long and close 
application to the subject, under an able teacher, or in private 
If one would excel in penmanship, he places himself under iha 
instruction of a professor in the art ; if he w r ould become an 
adept in wrestling or boxing, he receives instruction from a pro- 
fessor in pugilisticks ; if he wishes to be skilled in horseman- 
ship, he puts himself under a ridingmaster : or else he attains 
any one of these objects, by private application and long prac- 
tice. When Caspar Hauser was first thrown into Nuremburg, 
at the age of seventeen, after having been confined all his life 
in a narrow dungeon, he did not know how to walk ! Although 
nature had performed her w T hole duty to this youth, she had 
not taught him this art ; nor would she ever have taught him, 
nor would he ever have learned, to walk, had he not exerted 
his capabilities for the attainment of this object, by repeated and 
persevering efforts. If, then, anyone would excel in gesticula- 
tion, or in any other important qualification of an orator, let 
him assiduously set about the cultivation of his natural powers ; 
and if he cannot avail himself of the instructions of a compe- 
tent master in the art, he may, at least, glean useful hints from 
books that treat upon the subject, and, more especially, by ob- 
serving the manner adopted by the best speakers : but let him 
bear in mind, that, in order to excel, in this, or in any other im- 
portant attainment, he must accompany his desires by private 
application and persevering efforts. 

If argument were necessary to enforce the importance of 
cultivation in gesticulation, one sufficiently cogent might be 
drawn from the graceful skill and power displayed in this art 
by the best actors on the stage. No truth is clearer, than that 
their masterly excellence is the fruit of their own industry. 

But, in applying art to the aid of oratory, and especially in 
copying the mien and gesture of those who excel in it, great 
caution is to be observed. No true orator can be formed after 
any model. He that copies or borrows from any one whom he 
looks up to as a standard of excellence, should be careful, in 
the first place, not to copy his peculiarities or his defects. 
Secondly, whatever is copied, should be so completely brought 
under his command by long practice, as to appear perfectly 
natural, and his own. Art should never be allowed to put any 
constraint upon nature ; but should be so completely refined 
and subdued, as to appear to be the work of nature herself. 
Whenever art, m a speaker, is allowed, in the slightest degree, 
to put a constraint upon nature, it is immediately detected, 



Chap. VI. OF GESTURE. 149 

shows affectation, and is sure to disgust, rather than to please 
and impress, the hearer. 

The leading object of every publick speaker should be — to 
persuade. In order to persuade, he must be able to please — to 
affect the feelings and to move the heart. To accomplish all this, 
the first important requisite, doubtless, is, to advance sound 
arguments in clear and chaste language ; but he should remem- 
ber that arguments, when accompanied by appropriate gesture, 
an earnest and a sincere expression of countenance, and a ma- 
sterly intonation, come upon the hearer with a double force. 

As we have no admitted standard of excellence in gesticula- 
tion, we are left without ample data from which to draw a com- 
plete set of rules to regulate all the proper movements of the 
body, limbs, and features, which should take place in delivery. 
In general terms, force and grace may be considered the lead- 
ing qualities of good action. When combined, they mutually 
support each other, and may be regarded as the most powerful 
auxiliaries of oratory. 

In presenting particular directions for gesture, it is easier to 
give negative, than positive, instruction. In gesticulation, every 
one knows, that the right hand should be much more frequent- 
ly employed than the left; and that it should be brought down 
with great energy when he wishes to enforce an important sen- 
timent. In order to do this with full effect, it is equally appa- 
rent, that the arm should be boldly extended, so as to give all 
its muscles full play. A bold and manly freedom of gesture is 
to be studied, as much as a cramped and awkward stiffness is 
to be avoided. A contracted movement of the hand and arm, 
appears trifling and ungraceful. Waves or curved lines de 
scribed by the hand and arm, are far more graceful than straight 
lines : and, although these may be studied and practised, yet, a 
young speaker should studiously avoid all affected prettiness of 
gesture, all theatrical trick and mimickry, and, especially, all 
scholastick stiffness and measured, academical formality of 
gesture. Everything of this sort, appears unnatural, and, con- 
sequently, produces an effect directly opposite to that which is 
intended. 

Those automatical gestures taught in our academies and 
colleges, seldom do any good, frequently much harm. They 
are generally imperfect imitations of abominably bad prece- 
dents. Therefore, the first thing incumbent on a young man 
who has had the misfortune to be thus mistaught, if he would 
make himself an eloquent, or even a tolerable, speaker, is to 
lay aside all that mechanical stiffness and set formality, and, by 
13* 



150 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

degrees, to adopt the natural manner of those speakers whose 
gestures bear none of the marks of study, but which seem to 
burst forth as the spontaneous productions of the sentiments 
delivered. But, above all, he should so completely conceal all 
art, as not to allow his gestures to carry the least appearance 
of design. Many a young speaker is distressingly encium- 
bered with his hands and arms. They are greatly in his way. 
When this is the case, if he is unwilling to cut them off, let 
him strive to forget that he has any — and, at the same time, 
lay about him lustily and fearlessly. Let him remember, that 
it is no time to study attitude and gesture when he is address- 
ing a publick audience; but that these should be so thoroughly 
studied in private, as to enable him to make a happy use of 
them in publick, as it were, without thought or effort. 

These loose hints will be closed with one remark, which is, 
that excess of action, is nearly as detrimental in oratory, as no 
action. It becomes every speaker, therefore, in this, as well as 
in every thing else that pertains to elocution and oratory, to 
avoid extremes. 

OF ATTITUDE AND EXPRESSION. 

By a publick speaker, no small degree of attention should be 
given to a proper dignity of mien. Let him appear graceful, 
easy, and natural; and, when warmed and animated by the 
importance of his subject, his dignity of mien should become 
still more elevated and commanding, and assume a somewhat 
lofty and noble bearing. Directly opposed to this, is the awk- 
ward habit of frequently moving about, or changing place, 
while addressing an audience. Although the attitude of the 
speaker may be often changed, yet a shifting of place is rarely 
admissible. 

But the most important part of action consists in accompany- 
ing one's sentiments by an appropriate expression of the counte- 
nance. The eye of the orator, and the expressive movements 
of the muscles of his face, often tell more than his words, his 
body, or his hands. In regard to the use of that commanding 
organ, the eye, it may be worthy of remark, that, when lighted 
up and glowing with meaning and intelligence, and frequently 
and properly directed to the person or persons addressed, it 
tends greatly to rivet the attention, and deepen the interest, of 
the hearer, as well as to heighten the effect, and enforce th€ 
importance, of the sentiments delivered. A publick speaker, 
therefore, cannot fall into a greater errour, than to keep his 
eyes much cast down, averted, or turned away from his auditory. 



Cliap. VI. HINTS TO THE READER AND SPEAKER. 151 



GENERAL HINTS 

TO THE READER AND THE SPEAKER. 

The most eloquent manner of reading and of speaking, is the 
most easy of attainment, if sought for through the proper chan- 
nel; for it is as simple as it is natural. Bat many who aim 
at it, fail by the very efforts adopted to gain it. They over- 
reach the mark. They shoot too high. Instead of breathing 
forth their sentiments in the fervid glow of simple nature, which 
always warms, and animates, and interests the hearer, they 
work themselves up into a sort of frigid bombast, which chills 
and petrifies him. One, therefore, who would read well, or 
who would speak well — who would interest, rivet the attention, 
convince the understanding, and excite the feelings of his hear- 
ers — needs not expect to do it by any extraordinary exertion or 
desperate effort ; for genuine eloquence is not to be wooed and 
won by any such boisterous course of courtship, but by more 
gentle means. If one would become glowing and truly elo- 
quent, he must rise naturally with his subject, and without 
betraying the least art or effort. 

As in grammar and rhetorick, so in eloquence, defects are 
artificial; original beauties are natural. It is, therefore, a great 
mistake to suppose that visible art can do any thing towards, 
making an orator, or an eloquent reader. Cultivation mav do 
much. The rules of every science, as far as they are just and 
useful, are founded in nature, or in good usage. Hence, their 
adoption and application tend to free us from our artificial de- 
fects, all of which may be regarded as departures from the 
simplicity of nature. Let the student in elocution, then, bear 
in mind, that whatever is artificial, is unnatural, and whatever 
is unnatural, is directly opposed to genuine eloquence. 

The reader must not suppose, however, that, in cautioning 
him against an artificial and frigid vehemence of style in elo- 
cution, any countenance is given to a cold and indifferent man- 
ner. A slight degree of extravagant warmth, is far more en- 
durable than lifeless dulness and tameness. Notwithstanding 
all the precautions proper to be observed, therefore, the reader 
or speaker should not fail to enter with glowing fervour into 
the spirit of the sentiments which he utters. He should always 
be in earnest; and then, if his manner is simple, natural. 
*asy, and dignified, it cannot fail of being eloquent. 



152 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

In reading, one should not confine his eyes too much to the 
book. By this puerile practice, one-half of the effect of his 
elocution is lost. A good reader has his eyes directed to his 
hearers, nearly as much as to his book. Great effect may also 
be produced, by occasionally casting his eyes upon some of the 
most distant persons in the room. This is, as it were, to hold 
closer communion with them, by which their interest in what 

read, is greatly increased. 

HINTS ON THE ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT. 

The dignity and importance of this subject require that it 
always be approached with solemn awe ; but the very sacred- 
ness of the theological office, has betrayed many a one into a 
false notion of its true dignity and sanctity. A few, brief re- 
marks, therefore, which go to point out some of the most prom- 
inent errours and defects in delivery, prevalent among the 
clergy of our country, may not be unworthy the attention of 
young men who are just entering upon the duties of the min- 
istry. 

There is not, perhaps, a more common errour of delivery, 
displayed by him who officiates in the sacred desk, than an af- 
fected air of sanctimonious solemnity. This is often exhibited 
in mien, gesture, and tone. But the preacher who is filled with 
the grandeur and importance of his subject- — who considers that 
his object is, to convince his hearers of the truth of the sub- 
lime doctrines of the Bible, and to persuade them to act in con- 
formity to that conviction, will find no time for laying aside his 
natural tones and mien, but will enter upon his labours in the 
true spirit and dignity of native simplicity. 

Affectation, like all other evils, is contagious. Many adopt 
an affected tone and manner merely by imitating a bad prece- 
dent, and are not aware that they are thus tainted. Hence, it 
w T ould be well for a young speaker often to consider, whether 
he has not mistaken, and adopted, some affected habits for nat- 
ural graces. If his tones, gestures, and enunciation generally, 
closely resemble those he would employ in familiar and earnest 
discourse with others, they may commonly be regarded as 
natural. 

Affectation in the pulpit, is fashionable. This allusion is not 
made in reference to that affectation of prettiness, adopted by 
the weak and silly, nor that of sanctimonious austerity and 
pompous dignity, displayed by the bigoted and hypocritical, 
but in allusion to that affectation which shows itself in sectarian 
tone or cant. There is a baptist tone or cant, a methodist cant, 



Chap. VI. PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 153 

a presbyterian cant, an episcopalian cant, a catholick cant, and 
a quaker cant ; but as there is no religion in any of these cants, 
as they are all disagreeable to a chaste ear, and degrading to 
the true dignity of pulpit eloquence, the young clergyman would 
do well to avoid them. 

Though not unfrequently rude and boisterous, yet our meth- 
odist preachers are more effective in their manner of delivery 
than the more polished and scholastick clergy of some other 
sects. Who has not observed, that with less learning, but more 
zeal, with less argument, but more fervour, with less formality, 
but more vehemence, the former often accomplish more than 
the latter? And what is the cause of this singular difference 1 
One very plain reason is, in their manner, they /are more nat- 
ural. Having drawn their information more from men than 
books, the knowledge of the former is more practical in its 
cast than that of the latter ; and for this reason, they can apply 
it to greater advantage, and effect more with small means, than 
others do with means more ample. If they have not the ad- 
vantage of scientinck acquirements and literary polish, neither 
do they labour under the disadvantage of scholastick stiffness 
and coldness. Although extravagance, and rant, and bawling, 
and bombast, are by no means commendable in these "fair- 
spoken days," yet, who would not rather have a preacher 
breathe forth flames like the mares of Diomedon, and lay about 
him like a mad dragon from the marshes of Lerna, than to 
come upon them with frigid gusts from the top of mount Urai, 
and congeal them into an iceberg ? 

But without stretching farther this chain of unwelcome com- 
parisons, it may be proper to notice one advantage which pul- 
pit eloquence derives from a quarter whence it would seem to 
be little expected, and that is, from the peculiar habits of " cir 
cuit riders." They who follow this course of itinerancy, gen 
erally acquire, in no small degree, what the clergy of other de- 
nominations greatly need — a knowledge of human nature : and 
in this we may perceive an illustration of that grand, equalizing 
principle laid down by the great Dispenser of all good, by the 
operation of which, all his creatures, provided they ^ake a 
proper use of the means placed within their reach, possess 
nearly an equal chance for usefulness and happiness. 

If many of our learned divines would study human nature 
more, and books less, think more, and write less, extemporize 
more in the pulpit, and read less in it, seek a closer walk with 
God, and more frequent walks among their parishioners, they 
would doubtless become far more eloquent and far more useful 



154 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

aUESTIONS. 

Of what does chapter 6, treat ? 

What characteristicks of delivery are included under the term, ac- 
tion ? 

What kind of action is most highly recommended ? 

What kind of language is conveyed by gesticulation and expression 
of countenance'? 

What is said of art and cultivation in action ? — What, of copying from 
others'?— What should be the leading object of a publick speaker? 

What constitutes a proper dignity of mien ? 

What should a speaker do with his eyes ? 

In order to become glowing and truly eloquent, what is requisite in a 
speaker? 

Does visible art assist in oratory ? 

Does cultivation ? 

On what are the rules of science founded'? 

What is said of a slight degree of extravagant warmth in a speaker? 
-Should he always be in earnest ? 

What is said about confining the eyes too much to the book in read 
ing? 

Is an affected manner admissible in a preacher ? — What then? 

How may one know when his tones and gestures are natural? 

What is said of sectarian cant? 

Is it important that a clergyman possess a critical knowledge ui hu 
man nature ? 



PART n. 



CHAPTER I. 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE AND POETRY 
SECTION I. 

SELECT PARAGRAPHS. 

Beautiful Metaphor. — irving. 

!. It is interesting to notice how some mindsseemalmo.se 
to create themselves ', springing up under every disadvantage', 
and working their solitary', but irresistible', way through a 
thousand obstacles'. Nature seems to delight in disappointing 
the assiduities of art', with which it would rear legitimate dul- 
ness to maturity', and to glory in the vigour and luxuriance of 
her chance productions'. She scatters the seeds o( genius to 
the winds", and', though some may perish among the stony 
places of the world', and some be choked by the thorns and 
brambles of early adversity', yet', others will now and then 
strike root even in the clefts of the rock\ struggle bravely up 
into sunshine', and spread over their steril birthplace all the 
beauties of vegetation. 

REMARKS ON SECTION I. 

Articulation. — In reading these selections, the first thing - to be attend- 
ed to, is a clear and distinct articulation of every word, and every sylla- 
ble, and every letter of each syllable, silent letters only excepted. 

Modulation. — The second important requisite is. to vary the intonation 
with all the different modulations of the voice which a just and a happy 
elocution requires. This direction refers to all the varied movements 
of the voice, considered in regard to pitch, tone, inflection, stress, and 
cadence, and. especially to the prolongation of the tonick and subtonick 
elements. 

Inflection.— In reading the 1st paragraph, the rising inflection takes 
place at the words " disadvantage," "maturity," and " sunshine," in 
accordance with Rule 7, page 82; and the falling, is made at "them- 
selves" and u ioinds" agreeably to Exception 1, to Rule 7. The rising 
inflection occurs at '' world" and "adversity" according to Exception 



156 SELECTIONS IN PROSE 



Beautiful Simile.- 



2. As the vine', which has long twined its graceful foliage 
about the oak', and been lifted by it into sunshine', will', when 
the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt', cling round i» 
with its caressing tendrils', and bind up its shattered boughs', 
so is it beautifully ordered by Providence', that woman, who is 
the mere dependant and ornament of man in his happier hours', 
should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calam- 
ity'; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature', 
tenderly supporting the drooping head', and binding up the 
broken heart'. 

Volcanoes. — flint. 

3. Nature has reserved mountains as the machinery foi 
putting forth her sublimest spectacles'. Her most imposing 
mysteries are accomplished among the snows and storms that 
envelop their summits', while the central fires that burn beneath 
their roots', have been contemplated in all time', as the most 
terrifick manifestations of his power'. As we mount these 
ancient piles', majestick solitudes', a purer air', fresher vegeta- 
tion', flowers of more brilliant hues', the enlargement of the 
horizon', the expansion of mind', and thoughts more serene 
and meditative', seem to whisper us that', in climbing the domes 
of the temple of nature', we are approaching the throne of the 
Eternal Being who fills nature with his presence'. 



2, to the same rule: and this same Exception applies to the inflection 
at : ' vine" " oak," " sunshine," " will," " thunderbolt," " boughs," " Prov- 
idence," "woman" and " hours," in the 2nd paragraph. The word 
"head," in paragraph 2nd, takes the rising inflection, according to 
Rule 7. 

In paragraph 3d, the words "solitudes," "air," and "vegetation," 
"hues," " horizon," and "mind," are inflected according to a licensed 
use of the rules for inflecting a commencing, compound series. 

In the 4th paragraph, the words "come," "totter," "fire," "world," 
and "dim," " nation," " despotism," " glory," and "freemen," take the 
rising inflection, agreeably to Exception 2, to Rule 7. 

Emphasis. — In paragraph 1st, the idea of some minds' creating them- 
selves, is contrasted with the implied idea of other minds which are 
supposed not to create themselves. See page 112. Though some might 
expect nature to grieve, yet she "seems to delight, in disappointing the 
assiduities of art." But the emphasis on "delight," as well as on 
" chance," "winds," "stony," "adversity," " clefts," and " rock," may 
be properly referred to the principle contained in Rule 2, page 115, and 
be denominated emphasis of specification. 

The emphatick force which falls upon "vine" and "woman," in it*. 
2nd paragraph, is antithetic^, according to Rule 1. page 112. 



Chap. I. SELECT PARAGRAPHS. 157 

Bmiker-Hill Monument. 

4. Flow different is the scene which we this day behold', 
from that which Was displayed on this spot fifty years ago\ 
The traces of havock have been erased by the hand of time'. 
The farmer's boy now sips his beverage beside the blue stream 
once crimsoned with human gore'. — Where banners and plumes 
went down amid the shock of battle', now the golden harvest 
waves its yellow sheaves'. Where rolled the purple stream of 
blood', is now beheld the gambols of childhood and the frolick 
of youth'. The angel of peace now hovers over her domestick 
altars with outspread wings'. 

If the time ever come', when this mighty fabrick shall totter' ; 
when the beacon of joy that now rises in a pillar of fire', a sign 
and a wonder of the world', shall wax dim', the cause will be 
found in the ignorance of the people. If our Union is still to 
continue to cheer the hopes and animate the oppressed of 
every nation' ; if our fields are to be untrodden by the hirelings 
of despotism' ; if long days of blessedness are to attend our 
country in her career of glory' ; if you would have the sun 
continue to shed unclouded rays upon the face of freemen', 
then', educate all the children in the land'. This alone', startles 
the tyrant in Iris dreams of power', and rouses the slumbering 
energies of an oppressed people'. It is intelligence that 
reared up the majestick columns of our national glory' ; and 
this alone can prevent them from crumbling into ashes'. 

The name of the particular subject of remark or discourse, as it is 
antithetically employed when considered in reference to any and every 
other subject that might be brought under consideration, always becomes 
emphatick. Hence, the word " mountains" in paragraph 3d, requires a 
moderate degree of the median stress. In these remarks, Mr. Flint 
does not wish to call our attention to valleys, rivers, lakes, or oceans, but 
particularly to mountains. — Thus we have revealed the true philosophy 
of that percussive force called emphasis : and the inquiring mind that 
follows out this principle, as it pervades, more or less, every sentence 
uttered, and regulates every species of emphatick force, will be no less 
delighted with its simplicity, than astonished at its extent. But, in this 
example, again, as far as any practical purpose is to be subserved, and 
perhaps, too, as far as accuracy is concerned, it would be better to style 
the emphatick force which falls on " mountains," and that still slighter 
degree which falls on "mysteries," "fires," "solitudes," "air," "vege- 
tation," and so forth, emphasis of specification, in accordance with Rule 
2. The same rule may also be applied to "ignorance," "people." 
"educate, all," and "intelligence," in paragraph 4th. 

Many of the emphatick words in these paragraphs, are not marked; 
and many that are marked, it would be too tedious to comment upon. 

Rhetorical Pause. — In section 1st, the rhetorical pauses are not mark- 
ed, or indicated by dots. Ajnst elocution requires them to be observed, 
14 



158 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 



SECTION II. 

SELECT PARAGRAPHS. 

Alexander Hamilton. — webster. 

1. The reports of his speeches', imperfect as they probably 
are', yet remain as lasting monuments of his genius and patriot- 
ism'. He saw', at last', his hopes fulfilled : he saw the Con- 
stitution adopted', and the government under it', established and 
organized'. The discerning eye of Washington immediately 
called him to a post', infinitely the most important in the ad- 
ministration of the new system'. He was made Secretary of 
the Treasury ; and how he fulfilled the duties of such a place', 
at such a time', the whole country perceived with delight', and 
the whole world', with admiration'. He smote the rock of the 
national resources', and abundant streams of revenue gushed 
forth'. He touched the dead corpse of the publick credit', and 
it sprang upon its feet'. The fabled birth of Minerva', from 
the brain of Jove', was hardly more sudden or more perfect 
than the financial system of the United States which burst forth 
from the conceptions of Alexander Hamilton'. 

however, in many places in these examples. In reading paragraph 1st, 
a slight pause of this sort should occur after the words " way," "nature," 
the second " some," " others," " root," and " birthplace." 

In reading the third paragraph, a slight rhetorical pause should be 
made after the words "nature," "mountains" "mysteries," and the 
phrase "whisper us." 

In enunciating the 4th paragraph, this pause is proper after the words 
" havock" "peace," "will be found," "educate," and "intelligence." 

REMARKS ON SECTION II. 

The leading remarks applicable to the various paragraphs of Section 
2, amount to nothing more than a repetition of those already applied to 
Section 1. Very few will, therefore, be presented. The young reader 
cannot be too particular, however, in his attention to a distinct articula- 
tion and a correct orthoepy, in addition to the attention required in ap- 
propriately applying the rules for inflection, emphasis, pause, -and so 
forth — not only in enunciating the examples in this section, but, also, in 
reading every piece he may be called on to pronounce. 

Inflection. — In the 1st paragraph, the word " Treasury" being emphat- 
ick, takes the falling inflection, in accordance with Exception 1. to Rule 
7, page 82. This sentence is brought under the rule, or Exception, by 
considering that portion of it which follows the word Treasury, one 
compound member, answering to the simple member which closes with 
Treasury. 

In paragraph 2nd, the rising inflection takes place at " words" 
•' rhetorick" " declamation," and " inane," in accordance with Rule 2, 



Chap. I. SELECT PARAGRAPHS. 159 

Eloquence of Daniel Webster. 

2. It was in the Senate that I first became enamoured with 
the wonderful eloquence of this great man\ Every word that 
issued from his lips', seemed like the battle-axe of a warriour, 
falling 1 upon the helmet of his foe', and striking him to the 
earth'. It was not the mere rippling of words' — the bubbling 
of rhetorick' — the gingling and gurgling of empty declama- 
tion — frothy', flashy', and inane' ; but the mighty rushing of a 
thinking, logical', and ratio cinative' mind' — deep', original', 
and intellectual' — where every word was a thought, sometimes 
flashing with brilliancy' ; at others', stunning with force', or 
startling w r ith sublimity' — where every sentence was an argu- 
ment, and every argument excited a feeling corresponding to 
the thought' — holding the heart and the mind captive at the 
same time'. Sometimes it resembled the tramp of a trooper', 
crushing a young forest beneath his courser's feet v : at others', 
the boiling torrent', tumbling mountains of errour into the 
abyss of sophistry' : and then', again', it resembled a dignified 
chieftain in his battle career', leading on his legions to sweep 
an enemy to destruction . 

Such was the effect oi his eloquence upon me', that it seemed 
as if I actually heard the battle-axe' — one argument backing 
another in rapid and restless succession', until', like the piling 
of Pel ion upon Ossa', they crushed and overwhelmed his an- 
tagonists'. It is not surprising that a mind of this exalted 
order and finished character', should excite the admiration of 
an empire*. 

Waste of Time. — lindsey. 

3. It has been discovered', at length', what', indeed', was 
always sufficiently obvious', that a boy needs not be kept at 

page 75. At the words " frothy" and " deep," in the 2nd paragraph, 
and "primer," "name," and "moral," in the 3d, the falling inflection 
should be but dight, not more than the downward concrete of a second: 
see Observation, page 88. 

Emphasis.— In the 1st paragraph — Mr. Hamilton's hopes had previ- 
oasly rested on expectation; but he now saw them fulfilled. Again, "he 
was made Secretary of the Treasury" and not, Ambassador to France, 
Vice President of the United States, or some other publick officer. 

In paragraph 2nd — " It was in the Senate," and not at the Bar, " that 
I first became enamoured," and so forth. It seemed as if I, riot merely 
imagined, but " actually heard, the battle-axe." Each of these four ex- 
amples, might be explained according to Rule 2, page 75. 

A little reflection, will show the reader the propriety and the reason 
for emphasizing, not only the words marked in these examples, but, also, 
many others. 



160 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

school eight or ten years', to learn to read his primer\ write 
his name', cipher to the Rule of Three', and hate books and 
learning for the rest of his life". It has been discovered', that', 
in three or four years', a boy may be taught a hundred fold 
more, by skilful teachers in a skilful way', than their fathers 
dreamed of learning at dll\ This is the grandest discovery of 
our age\ It will do more to meliorate the moral', physical', 
and political condition of mankind', than all other means ever 
yet devised'. 



SECTION III. 

Injustice of Revenge. — dr. johnson. 

1. It is too common for those who have unjustly suffered 
pain, to inflict it', likewise', in their turn', with the same injus 
tice, and to imagine that they have a right to treat others' . . 
as they have themselves been treated'. 

POLITICAL AND MORAL MAXIMS. 

Intellectual minds often ill directed, — IB. 

2. That affluence and power, advantages extrinsick and ad- 
ventitious', and', therefore', easily separable from those by whom 
they are possessed', should very often natter the mind with ex- 
pectations of felicity which they cannot give', raises no aston- 
ishment' ; but it seems rational to hope', that intellectual 
greatness' . . should produce better effects ; that minds' . . 
qualified for great attainments', should first endeavour to secure' . . 
their own benefit' ; and that they who are most able to teach' . . 
others the way to happiness', should', with most certainty', 
follow it themselves'. 

But this expectation', however plausible , has been very fre- 
quently disappointed*. The heroes of literary', as well as of 

remarks on SECTION III. 

Inflection. — The rising inflection and suspending pause at the close of 
the words "pain," "it," " likewise," and " turn," in the 1st paragraph; 
at "power," "adventitious," "and," "therefore," "possessed," "give," 
"hope," " greatness," and "attainments," " happiness," "expectation," 
"sutfered,"'and so forth, in the 2nd paragraph; and at "occupied," 
"ideas," "studies," "politician," "shelter," "place," "conclude," 
" calamities," and "favour," "injured," " expedient," " government," 
"persecution," and so forth, in the 3d paragraph, are marked in ac 
cordance with the first part of Exception 2nd to Rule 7, page 83. Bui, 
at the close of the words " countries," " safe," "any," " lives," "posteri 



Chap. I. POLITICAL AND MORAL MAXIMS. 161 

civil', history', have very often been no less remarkable for 
what they have suffered', than for what they have achieved? 
and volumes have been written' . . only to enumerate the mis- 
eries of the learned?, and to relate their unhappy' . . lives' . . 
and their untimely' . . deaths'. 

Poetical and Political prospects of Colonization. — ib. 

3. The settlement of colonies in uninhabited countries', the 
establishing of those in security whose misfortunes have made 
their own country no longer pleasing or safe, the acquisition 
of property without injury to any, the appropriation of the 
waste and luxuriant bounties of nature/, and the enjoyment of 
those gifts which Heaven has scattered upon regions unculti- 
vated and unoccupied', cannot be considered' . . without giving 
rise to a great number of pleasing ideas', and bewildering the 
imagination in delightful prospects' ; and', therefore', whatever 
speculations they may produce in the minds of those who have 
confined themselves to political studies', they natura^y^a; the 
attention', and excite the applause , of a poef. 

The politician, when he considers men' . . as driven into 
other countries for shelter', and obliged to retire to forests and 
deserts', and pass their lives', and fix their posterity , in the 
remotest corners of the world' . . to avoid those hardships which 
they either suffer or fear in their native place', may very prop- 
erly inquire', why' . . legislators do not provide a remedy for 
these miseries', rather than encourage an escape from them\ 
He may conclude', that the flight of every honest man', is a 



ty," and " miseries," in the 3d paragraph, the inflection is controlled' by 
the emphasis, and is marked as the downward, in accordance with the 
second part of Exception 2nd to Rule 7. 

The inflection at "injustice," in paragraph 1st, " learned," in para- 
graph 2nd, and "publick," in the 3d paragraph, forms an exception to 
Rule 7, being under the control of emphatick force. 

Articulation. — The student in elocution, should constantly bear in 
mind, the great importance of giving to every word, syllable, and letter 
which he utters, a clear and distinct articulation; and that a distinct 
articulation is greatly promoted, by observing a due degree of slowness 
in pronunciation, by adopting a full and bold explosion, and an appro- 
priate protraction, of all the tonick and subtonick elements, and by paying 
strict attention to all the necessary grammatical and rhetorical pauses. 

Modulation. — In enunciating the 2nd paragraph, the voice, at the 
commencement, should be pitched upon its ordinary, speaking key ; 
but, as soon as it advances to the word " power," in the first line, it 
should be lowered one tone ; and this under key should be preserved in 
pronouncing the whole of the intervening phrase ending with the word 
"possessed/' when, at the word "should," the same pitch should be 
resumed that was dropped at the word " power." Such intervening 
14* 



162 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

loss to the community" ; that those who are unhappy witho % 
guilt', ought to be relieved? ; and the life which is overburder 
ed by accidental calamities', should be set at ease by the caiv 
of the publicli ; and that those who', by misconduct', have for 
feited their claims to favour', ought', rather', to be made usefvu 
to the society which they have injured', than driven from it v 
But the poet is employed in a more 'pleasing task than thai 
of proposing laws' . . which', however just and expedient', will 
never be made ; or of endeavouring to reduce to rational 
schemes of government', societies which were formed by 
chance , and which are conducted by the private passions oi 
those who preside in them\ He guides the unhappy fugitive 
from want and persecution' ', to plenty , quiet', and security , and 
seats himself in peaceful scenes of solitude and undisturbed 
peace'. 

SECTION IV. 

Female Fortitude. — irving. 

1. I have often had occasion to observe the fortitude with 
which' . . women . . sustain the most overwhelming reverses 
of fortune'. Those disasters which break down the spirit oi 
man, and prostrate him in the dust', seem to call forth all the 
energies of the softer sex', and give such intrepidity and ele- 
vation to their character', that', at times', it approaches to sub- 
limityX 

Affected Greatness.— ib. 

2. "We have', it is true', our great men in America) : not a 
city but has an ample sha,re of them\ I have mingled among 



phrases, or interrupters of the sense, are of very frequent recurrence, 
and demand particular attention in elocution. Like parenthetick 
clauses, they express a meaning not necessary to the sense of the sen- 
tences in which they occur, and yet, not sufficiently foreign to it to allow 
the distinctive marks of the parenthesis to be applied to them.; and, 
therefore, they do not require quite so low a tone as parenthetick clauses 
A happy variety in modulation will be greatly promoted, by observ- 
ing to give all the appropriate inflections and waves of the voice, by a 
distinct articulation, and frequent protraction of the elements of speech, 
and. especially, by a strong and varied explosion of emphatick force. 

REMARKS ON SECTION IV. 

Semitone. — The sarcastick irony of the 2nd paragraph, requires the 
adoption of the semitone and wave, particularly in pronouncing the 
phrases "great men," " small man " and "city." 



Chap. 1. POLITICAL AND MORAL MAXIMS. 163 

tjiem in my time', and been almost withered by the shade into 
which they cast me'; for' . . there is nothing so baleful to a 
small man' . . as the shade of a great one', particularly', the 
great man of a city. 

America and Europe Compared. — IB. 

3. On no country have the charms of nature been more 
prodigally lavished' . . than upon America\ Her mighty lakes", 
like oceans of liquid silver' ; her mountains*, with their bright', 
aerial teints' : her valleys", teeming with wild fertility' ; her tre- 
mendous cataracts", thundering in their solitudes' ; her bound- 
less plains", weaving with spontaneous verdure' ; her broad', 
deep rivers", rolling in solemn silence to the ocean' ; her track- 
less forests', where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence' ; 
her skies", kindling with the magick of summer clouds and glo- 
rious sunshine' : — no', never need an American' . . look beyond 
his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural scenery ". 

But Europe . . holds forth all the charms of storied and 
poetical association'. There are to be seen the master-pieces of 
art", the refinements of highly cultivated society', the quaint 
peculiarities of ancient and local customs". America . . is full 
of youthful promise" ; Europe' . . is rich in the accumulated 
treasures of age. Her very ruins' . . tell the history of 
times gone by', and every mouldering stone' . . is a chronicle". 
It is pleasant to wander over the scenes of renowned achieve- 
ment — to tread', as it were', in the footsteps of antiquity" — to 
loiter about the ruined castle" — to meditate on the falling tower 
— to escape', in short', from - the commonplace realities of the 
present', and lose one's self among the shadowy grandeurs of 
the past". 



Inflection. — Before each of the members of the second sentence in par- 
agraph 3d, the phrase " There are," is understood, so that each member 
constitutes a distinct, affirmative proposition, requiring at "lakes," 
" mountains," " valleys," and so on, and at "silver," ' teints," "fertility," 
and so forth, the falling inflection, agreeably to Rule 1, page 75. 

To the Teacher. — In exercising his pupils in these " Select Para- 
graphs," and, also, in other selections, the teacher would do well to re- 
quire them to read each sentence, paragraph, or section, several times 
o^er, before they proceed to another paragraph or section. In the first 
reading, particular attention should be given to a distinct articulation 
and protraction of the elementary sounds; in the second reading, to 
inflection ; in the third, to emphasis ; in the fourth, to pause ; in the fifth, 
to modulation ; in the sixth, to time ; and, lastly, let the pupil endeav- 
our to display all the qualities of voice requisite to a happy and forcible 
elocution. But, inasmuch as example speaks louder than precept, let 
not the teacher forget the importance of illustrating every thing with 
his own voice before he requires his pupil to do it. 



164 SELECTIONS IN VERSE. 

SECTION V. 

PARAGRAPHS IN VERSE. 

Simile. — shakspeare. 

How far the little candle throws its beams' 1 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world'. 

Vice. — pope. 

Vice' . . is a monster of so frightful mien', 

As', to be hated', needs but to be seeif ; 

Yet seen too oft', familiar with her face', 

We first' . . endure", then' . . pity', then' . . . embrace* 

Fall of Babylon. — moore. 

Wo'! wo'! the time of thy visitation' 
Is come', proud Land', thy doom is cast' ; 
And the bleak wave of desolation' 
Sweeps over thy guilty head at last\ 
War', war', war', against Babylon' ! 

Fame. — byron. 

What is the end offame y ? 'tis but to fill' 

A certain portion of uncertain paper v ; 
Some' . . liken it to climbing up a hill', 

Whose summit (like all hills) is lost in vapour v : 
For this'. . men' . . write v , speak', preach', and heroes kill'; 

And bards' . . burn what they call their " midnight taper ," 
To have', when the original is dust', 
A narne v , a wretched picture', and worse bust\ 
What are the hopes of man' ? old Egypt's king' 

Cheops', erected the first pyramid', 
And largest', thinking it was just the thing' 

To keep his memory whole and mummy hid'; 
But somebody or other', rummaging', 

Burglariously broke his coffin's lid': 
Let not a monument' . . give you or me nopes', 
Since' . . not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops'. 



SECTION VI. 

The Family Altar. — burns. 

When kneeling down to heaven's Eternal King', 
The saint', the father', the good husband', prays', 

REMARKS ON SECTIONS V. AND VI. 

Final Pause. — The words "visitation," "desolation," "king," and 
'* thing," in section 5th, and " praise," " dear," " pride," " see," " adore," 
" beyond," " fears," " self," and "■ think," in section 6th, illustrate the 
final pause : see page 140, 



FUTURE BLISS 165 

Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant wing',' 

That thus they all shall meet in future days" ; 
There ever bask in uncreated rays', 

No more to sigh', or shed the bitter tear", 
Together hymning their Creator's praise' 

In such society", yet still more dear' 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere\ 
Compared with this', how poor religion's pride' 

In all the pomp of method and of art", 
Where men display to congregations wide', 

Devotion's every grace' . . . except the hear? ! 
That Power', incensed', the pageant will desert v , 

The pompous strain", the sacerdotal stole"; 
But', haply', in some cottage far apart', 

May hear', well pleased', the language of the s6uT t 
And in his book of life the inmates poor' . . enrol". 

Bliss of the Future State* — byron. 

In darkness spoke Athena's wisest son',t 
" All that we know', is', nothing can be known" :" 
Yet doubting pagans dreamed of bliss to come'- 
Of peace upon the shores of Acheron". 
'Tis ours', as holiest men have deemed', to see' 
A land of souls beyond that sable shore", 
To shame the doctrine of the sadducee' 
And sophists", madly vain of dubious lore": 
How sweet 'twill be in concert to adore' 
With those who made our mortal labours light" ! 
To hear each voice we feared to hear no more" — 
Of Christian martyrs", prophets gone before" ! 
Behold each mighty shade revealed to sight", 
The Bactrian" ; t Samian§ sage', and all who taught the right" ! 

Future Bliss. — IB. " 

If that high world which lies beyond' 

Our own', surviving love endears'; 
If there the cherished heart be found', 

The eye the same', except in tears' ; 
How welcome those untrodden spheres" ! 

How sweet this very hour to die K ! 
To soar from earth", and find all fears' 

Lost in thy light' . . . Eternity" ! 



Accent. — In reading poetry, it is inadmissible to sacrifice sense to 
sound. Hence, ca-e should be taken not to lay any stress upon little 
words that would not admit of it in prose : as in the lines 
" Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen." 
In enunciating this example, many would accent, or lay a stress upon, 
the words "is," "of," and "to," in order to perfect the poetick feet, or 

* Altered from the original t Socrates. J Zoroaster. § Pythagoras. 



166 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

It must be so* : 'tis not for self" 

That we so tremble on the brink'; 
And', striving to o'erleap the gulf, 

Yet cling to being's severing link*. 
Oh' ! in that future let us think 7 

To hold each heart the heart that shares\ 
With them the immortal waters drink', 

And', soul in soul', grow deathless theirs\ 



SECTION VII. 

Musick. SHAKSPEARE. 

There's naught so stockist, hard*, and full of rage', 

But musick', for the time', doth change its nature*. 

The man that hath no musick in himself, 

And is not moved with concord of sweet sounds', 

Is fit for ^reasons*, stratagems', and spoils*; 

The motions of his spirit', are dull as night*, 

And his affections', dark as Erebus* : 

Let no such man be trusted\ 

Mercy. — ib. 

The quality of mercy is not strained'; 

It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven 

Upon the place beneath*: it is twice blessed* ; 

It blesseth him that gives', and him that takes*. 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest* : it becomes 

The throned monarch better than his crown*: 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power*, 

The attribute to awe and majesty', 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings*; 

But mercy is above this sceptred sway*: 

It is enthroned in the heart of kings*; 

It is an attribute to God himself* ; 

And earthly power doth show most like to God's 

When mercy seasons justice*. 

Solitude. — IB. 

Are not these woods f . . 
More free from peril than the envious courts' 7 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam?, 



render them all as regular iambuses — a thing not at all designed by tne 
poet — but this would be a gross dereliction from every principle of cor- 
rect taste, and be apt to degenerate into a singsong, or mere gingling 
of rhymes. 

REMARKS ON SECTIONS VII. AND VIII. 

Final Pause. — In reading the first selection in section 8th, the final 
pause is demanded at "bow," " appear," " survey," "scene," and " re- 



ANTICIPATION THE MISER. . 67 

The seasons' difference' ; as the icy fang', 

And churlish chiding of the winter's wind v ; 

Which', when it bites and blows upon my body', 

Even till I shrink with cold?, I smile\- and say', 

"' This' . . is no flattery' : these' . . are counsellors 

That feelingly persuade me what I am\ 

Sweet are the uses of adversitif ; 

Which', like the toad y , ugly and venomous', 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head N ; 

And this' . . our life', exempt from publick haunt', 

Finds tongues in trees', books' . . in the running brooks\ 

Sermons in stones', and good' . . in every thingY' 



SECTION VIII. 

Anticipation. — campeeli,. 

At summer eve', when heaven's aerial bow' 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below', 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye\ 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky v 1 
Why do those cliffs of shadowy teint appear' 

More sweet than all the landscape smiling near N 1 

'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view', 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue\ 
Thus', with delight', we linger to survey' 
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way" ; 
Thus', from afar', each dim-discovered scene' 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been v ; 
And every form that fancy can repair' 
From dark oblivion', glows divinely there\ 

The Miser. — pollok. 

But there is one in folly farther gone\ 

With eye awry v , incurable', and wild x , — 

The laughing-stock of demons and of men x , 

And by his guardian angel quite given up v — 

The miser v , who', with dust inanimate 

Holds wedded intercourse*. 111 guided wretch* ! 

Thou mayst have seen him at the midnight hour' — 

When good men sleep*, and in light winged dreams 

Send up their souls to God' — in wasteful hall', 

With vigilance and fasting worn to skin 

as wtil as in the three selections from Shakspeare, in section 7th, no 
suck pause is allowable: see pages 140 and Ml. 

In the selection from Pollok, section 8th, the intervening adjunct be- 
ginning with the phrase, "The laughing-stock," and ending with, 
" quite given up," and that, likewise, commencing with, " When good 
men sleep," and closing with, " their souls to God," should both be pro- 
nounced in a lower tone than the rest of the paragraph, though not quite 
so low as is ordinarily adopted in pronouncing the parenthetick clause 



»68 SELECTIONS IN POETRY, 

And bone', and -wrapped in most debasing rags* — 

Thou mayst have seen him bending o'er his heaps', 

And holding strange communion with his gokT; 

And as his thievish fancy seems to hear 

The night-man's foot approach', starting alarmed', 

And in his old', decrepit', withered hand', 

That palsy shakes', grasping the yellow earth 

To make it sure\ Of all God made upright', 

And in their nostrils breathed a living soul', 

Most fallen^, most prone\ most earthly', most debased^ ; 

Of all that sell eternity for time', 

None bargain on so easy terms with death\ 

Illustrious fooP ! Nay\ most inhuman wretch N ! 

He sits among his bags', and', with a look 

Which hell might be ashamed of, drives the poor 

Away unalrnsech, and midst abundance dies", 

Sorest of evils' ! dies of utter want\ 



CHAPTER II. 



PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 

SECTION 1. 

Hamlefs reflections on Yoricl^s scull. — Shakspeare. 

Alas', poor Yorick'! — I knew him', well', Horatio': a fellow of 
infinite jest', of most excellent fancy'. Fie hath borne me on his 
back a thousand times'; and now', how abhorred in my imagi- 
nation is this scull 1 ! My gorge rises at it'. Here hung those 
lips that I have kissed', I know not how oft 1 . Where are your 
gibes',*' now 1 ? your gambols'? your songs'? your flashes of 
merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar'? Not one', 
now', to mock your own grinning'? quite chap-fallen'? Now 
get you to my lady's chamber', and tell her', if she paint an 
inch thick', yet to this favour")" she must come.' 

Note. In order to promote the attainment of good reading, the author 
beers leave once more to insist on the importance of teachers' requiring- their 
pupils to read each section many times over, even until they can enunciate 
it both accurately and eloquently, before they are allowed to proceed to en 
other section. It should be borne in mind, that the higher degrees of excel 
lence in Elocution, are to be gained, not by reading much, but Ly pi a. 
nouncing what is read with a strict regard to the nature of the subject, the 
structure of the sentences, the turn of the sentiment, and -a 'correct and 
judicious application of the rules of the science. 



SECTION II. 

Refections on the Tomb of Shakspeare. — Irving. 

As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return', I paused 
to contemplate the distant church in which Shakspeare lies 
buried', and could not but exult in the malediction^ which has 
kept his ashes undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults'. 

* Taunts, sarcasms. \ Aspect 

4 Epitaph o. Shakspcarc's Tomb. 

" Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear 

To dig the dust enclosed here. 

Blest be the man that spares these stones; 

And cursed be he that moves my bone*." 

15 



170 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

What honour could It's name have derived from being mingled' 
in dusty companionship', with the epitaphs', and escutcheons'* 
and venal eulogiums of a titled multitude 1 ] What would a 
crowded corner in Westminster Abbey have been', compared 
with this reverend pile', which seems to stand in beautiful lone- 
liness as his sole mausoleum'! 1 ' The solicitude about the grave', 
may be but the offspring of an overwrought sensibility'; but 
human nature is made up of foibles and prejudices'; and its best 
and tenderest affections are mingled with these factitious feel- 
ings 1 . He who has sought renown about the world', and has 
reaped a full harvest of worldly favour', will find', after all', 
that there is no love', no admiration 1 , no applause', so sweet to 
the soul as that which springs up in his native place'. It is 
there that he seeks to be gathered in peace and honour', among 
his kindred and his early friends'. And when the weary heart 
and the failing head begin to warn him that the evening of life 
is drawing on', he turns as fondly as does the infant to its 
mother's arms', to sink to sleep in the bosom d of the scene of 
his childhood 1 . 

Hew wculd it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard', 
when', wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world', he 
cast back a heavy look upon his paternal home', could he have 
foreseen', that', before many years', he should return to it cov- 
ered with renown'; that his name would become the boast and 
the glory of his native place'; that his ashes would be religiously 
guarded as its most precious treasure'; and that its lessening 
spire', on which his eyes were fixed in tearful contemplation', 
would one day become the beacon', towering amidst the gentle 
landscape', 6 to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation to his 
tomb'! 



SECTION III. 
On Studies. — Lord Bacon. 

words put in Italiclcs, are e.mphatical. Two dots ( . . ) denote the shortes* 
rhetorical pause ; three dots, (...) "* longer pause, and so on.) 

Studies' . . terve for deiigbt'. for ornament', and for ability' 
Their chief use for delight', is' . . in retired privacy'; for orna- 
ment', in discourse*; and for ability', in the arrangement and 
disposition of business" : for expert men can execute , and', per 

a Es-kutsh'Inz. l 'Maw-s6-l£'um. c In'fant — not, in'fwnt. d B66'z&m— 
not, bwz'urn. e Land'skape — not, land'sktp. 



Chap. II. or* studies. 171 

haps', judge of particulars' , one by one'; but general councils' , 
and the plots and marshalling of affairs ', come best from the 
learned'.* To spend too much time in studies', is sloth'/' to 
use them too much for ornament' , c is affectation'; to form one's 
judgment wholly by their rules', is the humour 11 of a scholar'. 
They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience': for 
natural abilities' . . are like natural plants', and need pruning 
by study'; and studies themselves give forth directions too much 
at large', unless they are hedged in by experience '. 

Crafty men' . . contemn studies'; simple men' . . admire', ami 
wise men' . . use , them'; for they teach not their own use', but 
that is a wisdom without them and above them*, won by obser- 
vation'. Read not to contradict and confute' ; nor to believe or 
tafce /or granted'; nor to find matter merely for conversation' ; 
but to weigh and consider'. Some books are to be tasted'; 
others', to be swallowed'; and some jfetc', to be chewed and 
digested'; that is', some books are to be only glanced at' , 
others' . . are to be read' , but not critically'; and someyjjw' . 
are to be read wholly', and with diligence and attention'. 
Some books', also', may be read by deputy', and extracts re- 
ceived from them which are made by others' ; but they should 
be only the meaner sort of books', and the less important argu- 
ments of those which are better': otherwise', distilled books' . . 
are', like common', distilled waters', flashy things'. 

Reading' . . makes a full man'; conversation , a ready man'; 
and writing ' , an exact man'. Therefore', if a man write little', 
he needs a great memory' ; if he converse little', he wants a 
present wit'; and, if he read little', he ought to have much cun- 
ning' , that he may seem to know what he does not'. History' . . 
makes men wise'; poetry' . . makes them witty'; mathematicks', 
subtle'; natural philosophy' , deep'; moral philosophy' , grave' ; 
logick and rhetorick' , able to contend': nay', there is no ob- 
struction to the human faculties but what may be overcome by 
proper studies'. Obstacles to learning', like the diseases of the 
body', are removed by appropriate exercises'. Thus', bowl- 
ing J is good for f a weakness in the back' ; gunning' , for f the 
lungs and breast'; walking' , for f the stomach'; riding' , for f 
the head', and the like'; so', if one's thoughts are wandering' , 
let him study mathematicks' ; for'/ in demonstrating' ' , s if his 
attention be called away ever so little', he must begin again', 
if his faculties be not disciplined to distinguish and discrimi- 
nate', let him study the schoolmen' ; for f they are (cymini sec- 

a L£rn'£d. l S\6th. c Or'na-m£nt — not, or'na miint. d Y4'mur. e B6Ie 
\ng. f F6r —not, fur, nor, f'r. ^De mon'stra'tlng. 



172 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

tores') the cutters of cumin ; if he is not accustomed to col 
over matters', and call up one fact with which to prove and 
illustrate another', let him study the lawyers' cases'. Hence', 
every defect of the mind may have its special receipt'. 

There are three chief vanities in studies', by which learning 
has been most traduced'; for* we deem those things vain which 
are either false or frivolous — which have no truth', or are of 
no use'; and those persons are considered vain', who are either 
credulous or curious'. Judging', then', either from 1 ' reason or 
experience ', there prove to be three distempers of learning': the 
first' . . is fantastical learning', the second', contentious learn- 
ing', and the last', affected learning' — vain imaginations', vain 
altercations , and vain affections'. 



SECTION IV. 
Liberty and Slavery. — Sterne. 

Disguise thyself as thou wilt', still', Slavery' ', still thou art 
a bitter draught'; and', though thousands in all ages have been 
made to drink of thee', thou art no less bitter on that account'. 
— It is thou', thrice sweet and gracious goddess', Liberty', 
whom all in publick or in private worship', whose taste is grate- 
ful', and ever will be so', till Nature herself shall change'. No 
teint of words can spot thy snowy mantle', or chymick power 
turn thy sceptre into iron'. With thee', to smile upon him b as 
he eats his crust', the swain is happier than his monarch' , from c 
whose court thou art exiled'. — Gracious Heaven'! grant me but 
health' , thou great Bestower of it', and give me but this fair 
goddess as my d companion , and shower down thy mitres', if it 
seem good unto thy divine Providence', upon those heads which 
are aching for a them'. 

I sat down close by my table', and', leaning my d head upon 
my d hand', began to figure to myself the miseries of confine- 
ment'. I was in a right frame for it'; and so I gave full scope 
to my d imagination'. 

I was going to begin with the millions of my" 1 fellow-crea- 
tures', born to no inheritance but slavery'; but finding', how- 
ever affecting the picture was', that I could not bring it near 
me', and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract 
me', I took a single captive', and', having first shut him up in 

a F6r — not, fur, nor, f'r. l TJp-6n' him — not, 'pun im. c Fr6m — not, 
frum, nor, fr'm. d Me — but, when emphatick, mf. 



Chap. II. ON THE STARRY HEAVENS. 173 

his dungeon', I then looked through the twilight of his grated 
door to take his picture 1 . 

I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation 
and confinement", and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it 
is which arises from hope deferred". Upon looking nearer, I 
saw him pale and feverish 1 . In thirty years the western breeze 
had not once fanned his blood 1 . He had seen no sun', no moon', 
in all that time 1 ; nor had the voice of friend or kinsman a breathed 
through his lattice 1 . His children' 

But here my b heart began to bleed' — and I was forced to go 
on with another part of the portrait 1 . 

He was sitting on the ground upon a little straw', in the far- 
thest corner of his dungeon', which was alternately his chair 
and bed". A little calender of small sticks was laid at the 
head', notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had 
passed there 1 . He had one of these little sticks in his hand', d 
and , with a rusty nail', w r as etching another day of misery to 
add to the heap 1 . As I darkened the little light he had', he lifted 
up a hopeless eye towards the door', then cast it clown 1 , shook 
his head', and went on with his work of affliction 1 . I heard 
his chains upon his legs' as he turned his body', to lay his little 
stick upon the bundle 1 . — He gave a deep sigh". I saw the iron 

enter his souV. 1 burst into tears 1 . 1 could not sustain 

the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn'. 



SECTION V. 
On the Starry Heavens. — Flint. 

•Words Italicised, are emphatick, in various degrees; but it is only those words 
most prominently emphatick, that are thus designated.) 

I go forth in the silent and meditative hour of evening', under 
the cerulean', star-spangled dome of the firmament 1 . 6 These 
numberless stars 1 , this multitude of movements', these radiant 
orbs 1 , this earth of our habitation carried round in space', like 
a frail vessel borne upon the ocean', penetrate my mind with 
profound astonishment 1 / I attempt to scan the grandeur and 
the power of Him who has placed us in presence of such mag- 
nificent spectacles 1 . I contemplate the motion of worlds", com- 
pared with that of the humblest" insect"; the planets', which 

a Kinz'man. l Me — but, when emphatick, ml. cal-ter'natelS— not 
aivl ter'nate le. d Distinctly, " in his hand " — not, eh ne zand. e Fer' 
ma'mint — not, fir'ma muni. fAs-ton'ish'ment. eUm'blest. 
15* 



174 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

circulate in the void', without ever deviating from then path 1 , 
animals', moving in their appointed spheres 1 from an interioui 
impulse'; and man , whose thought', more astonishing still', 
transcends the limits of time and space', without the accom- 
paniment of the body which it animates'; the two motions of 
the earth", the one on its axis', the other round the sun'; and 
they are all radiant with the wonderful impress of the Creator's 
beneficent intelligence 1 . One of the earth's compound move- 
ments', is inexplicable upon any of the known laws of physicks'. 
Attraction causes bodies to tend towards a centre , but gives 
them no impulse of motion'. Who can fail to admire the exact 
equilibrium of these motions', and the wants of man and na- 
ture'? The earth', inclining on its axis', presents in turn its two 
hemispheres to the sun', causing us the grateful alternation" 3 of 
day and night'; while the other motion presents us with the 
varied aspects and delightful vicissitudes of the seasons'. 

It is another harmony of the motions of the earth', that while 
we are carried round with the greatest absolute rapidity' , we 
should have the sensation of being at rest". The atmosphere', 
and every relative landmark by which we could measure', and 
be made to perceive this motion', are carried round with us'; 
and thus we have a consciousness that we have not changed 
our place'. We have familiar examples of the deceptive char- 
acter of this motion'. The fisherman', abandoning himself in 
his boat to the stream', and borne down by the current', sees 
the shores apparently 13 ascend", and seems himself at rest'. The 
spectator on the shore', measures the progress 6 of the boat by 
the trees', and discovers its true and absolute motion'. To us', 
the sun and planets seem to advance from the eastern to the 
western horizon'. A person who could contemplate this motion 
from a fixed point in the heavens', would see the true and abso- 
lute motion to be that of the earth advancing rapidly from west 
to east'. 

One beautiful harmony of the universe', resulting from this 
illusive appearance of relative motion', compared with absolute 
rest', must not be overlooked'. While movement' and repose', 
darkness' and light', the changes of the seasons' and the march 
of the stars', which diversify the decorations of the world', seem 
to result from real change of place', they are successive only 
in appearance", being', in reality', permanent". The sc€'ne 
which is effaced from our view', is repainted for another peo- 
ple". It is not the spectator' , but the spectacle only', that has 

a Sf£rez. b, al-t£r-na'sMn — not, awl ter na shun. cFish'u.r-man — not, 
fish'er mini. d Ap-pa'r£nt-e. e Prog'gr£s. 



Chap. II. ON THE STARRY HEAVENS. 175 

changed 1 . The Author of nature has seen fit to unite the ab- 
Nolute and relative progress 1 of succession', as well as of mo 
tion' , in his beautiful work of creation 1 . The one is placed in 
time', the other', in space'. By the one', the beauties of the 
universe are perpetual 1 , infinite', always the same'. By the 
other', they are multiplied 1 , finished', and renewed 1 . Without 
the one' , there would be no grandeur in creation 1 . Without 
the other' , it would have been all monotony'. In this way', 
time presents itself to view in a new relation 1 . The least of its 
fractions becomes a complete ichole' ; which comprehends 
every event 1 , and modifies every change', from the death of an 
insect to the birth of a world'* Every moment is', in itself , a 
little eternity'. Bring together', then', in thought', the most 
beautiful accidents'' of nature 1 . Suppose you see', at the same 
moment', c all the hours of the day', and all the aspects of the 
seasons 1 — a morning of spring', and a morning of autumn 1 — 
a burning noon of summer', and a noon of frost and snows 1 — 
a night bespangled with stars', and a night of darkness and 
clouds 1 — meadows enamelled with flowers', and forests robbed 
of their foliage d by winter and storms 1 — plains covered with 
springing corn', and gilded with harvests 1 : you will then have 
a just idea of the various aspects of the universe as they are 
presented', at the same moment', to different spectators 1 . 

It is an astonishing fact', that while you admire the sun', 
sinking under the arches of the west' , another observer beholds 
him springing from the regions of the morning'. By a won- 
derful arrangement of the Creator', this ancient 6 and unwearied 
luminary that reposes from the heat and dust of the day behind 
his golden canopy f in the west', is the same youthful planet 
that awakes', humid with dew', from behind the whitening cur- 
tain of the dawn 1 . At every moment of the day', to some of 
our fellow-beings the sun is rising 1 , blazing in the zenith', or 
sinking behind the western wave 1 . Our senses present us this 
charming illusion 1 . To a spectator', beholding from a fixed 
point in space', there would be neither east 1 , meridian', nor 
west 1 ; but the sun would blaze motionless from his dome 1 . 

Let us imagine the view of the spectacle', if the laws of na- 
ture were abandoned to the slightest change'. The clouds', 
obeying the laws of gravity', would fall perpendicularly on the 
earth 1 ; or would ascend beyond condensation into the upper re- 
gions of the air 1 . At one period', the air would become too 
gross, and at the next' , too much rarefied' , for the organs of 

2 Tr6g'gvks. tAk'se'dlnts — not, ak'se'dunts. c M6'm£nt. d P6'l^ , ije. 
*4ne'tshent — not, an'sh?/nt. f Kan'6'pe — not, oan'e py. 



176 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

respiration'. The moon', too near', or too distant from us 
would be at one time invisible', and at another', would show 
herself bloody and covered with enormous spots', or filling 
with her extended orb all the celestial dome 1 . As if possessed* 
of some wild caprice', 1 ' she would either move upon the line of 
the ecliptick', or', changing her sides', would at length discover 
to us a face which the earth has not seen'. The stars', smitten 
with the same uncertainty of motion', would rush together', and 
become a collection of terrifick conjunctions 1 . On a sudden', 
the constellation of summer would be destroyed by that, of win- 
ter'. Bootes would lead the Pleiades' ; d and the Lion would 
roar in Aquarius'. Here', the stars would fly away Math the 
rapidity of lightning'; there', they would hang motionless in 
the heavens'. Sometimes' , crowding into groups', they would 
form a new Milky- way'. Again', disappearing altogether', and 
rending t the curtain of worlds', they would open to view the 
abysses of eternity'. Reason as we will upon the inherent 6 laws 
of nature'/ second causes are not sufficient to explain all the 
phenomena'. There must be a perpetual and omnipotent vigi- 
lance always sustaining these laws in their equilibrium'. God 
would need no other effort to destroy 5 this great work', than to 
abandon it to itself''. Our confidence that these laws will 
never change' , must rest upon our conviction of the immortality 
of his character". 



SECTION VI. 

Extract from Essays on Scenes in Italy. — Lady Morgan. 

It struck my imagination much, while standing on the last 
field fought by Bonaparte, that the battle of Waterloo should 
have been fought on a Sunday. What a different scene did the 
Scotch Grays and English Infantry present, from that which, 
at that very hour, was exhibited 11 by their relatives, when over 
England and Scotland each church -bell had drawn together its 
worshippers ! While many a mother's heart was sending up 
a prayer for her son's preservation, perhaps that son was gasp- 
ing in agony. Yet, even at such a period, the lessons of his 
early days might give him consolation ; and the maternal prayer 

a P6z-zest. b K&-pre£se'. c B6-6't£z. d Pl£'y&-dSz. e In-h£'r5nt. 
•"Nd'tshftre — not, n&'tshur. eD£-str6e' — not, dis tvawe'. h Egz-hlb'it-£d 
—not, eg zib'it ed. 



Chap 8 II. AFFECTION FOR THE DEAD. ] 77 

might prepare the heart to support maternal anguish. It is re- 
ligion alone which is of universal application, both as a stimu- 
lant and a lenitive, throughout the varied heritage which falls to 
the lot of man. But we know that many thousands rushed 
into this fight, even of those who had been instructed in our 
religious principles, without leisure 51 for one serious thought ; 
and that some officers were killed in their ball dresses. They 
made the leap into the gulf which divides two worlds — the 
present from the immutable state, without one parting prayer, 
or one note of preparation ! 

As I looked over this field, now green with growing corn, I 
could mark, with my eye, the spots where the most desperate 
carnage had been marked out by the verdure* of the wheat. 
The bodies had been heaped together, and scarcely more than 
covered : and so enriched is the soil, that, in these spots, the 
grain never ripens. It grows rank and green to the end of 
harvest. This touching memorial, which endures when the 
thousand groans have expired, and when the stain of human 
blood has faded from the ground, still seems to cry to Heaven 
that there is awful guilt somewhere, and a terrifick reckoning 
for those who caused destruction which the earth could not con- 
ceal. These hillocks of superabundant vegetation, as the wind 
rustled through the corn, seemed the most affecting monuments 
which nature could devise, and gave a melancholy animation to 
this plain of death. 

When we attempt to measure the mass of suffering which 
was here inflicted, and to number the individuals that fell, con- 
sidering each who suffered as our fellow-man, we are over- 
whelmed with the agonizing calculation, and retire from the 
field which has been the scene of our reflections, with the sim- 
ple, concentrated feeling — these armies once lived, breathed, 
and felt like us, and the time is at hand when we shall be 
like them. 



SECTION VII. 

Affection for the Dead. — Irvixg. 

The sorrow for the dead', is the only sorrow from c which 
we refuse to be divorced 1 . Every other wound', we seek to 
heaV — every other affliction', to forget'; but this wound', we 
consider it a duty to keep open' — this affliction we cherish' . 

a L£'zharc. V&r'jare. c Fr6m — not, frum. 



178 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

and brood over in solitude'. Where is the mother who would will- 
ingly forget the infant' . . that perished', like a blossom', from'' 
her arms', though every recollection is a pang"? Where is the 
child that would willingly forget the most tender of -parents', 
though', to remember', be but to lament'? Who', even in the 
hour of agony", would forget the friend over whom he mourns'? 
W T ho', even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her 
he most loved"; when he feels his heart', as it were', crushed 
m the closing of its portals', would accept of consolation that 
must be bought by forgetfulness"? No'; the love which sur- 
vives the tomb' , is one of the noblest attributes of the soul'. 

If it has its woes' , it has likewise its delights^; and when the 
overwhelming burst of grief . . is calmed into the gentle tear 
of recollection'; — when the sudden anguish and the convulsive 
agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved', is soft- 
ened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days 
of its loveliness' — who would root out such a sorrow from the 
heart'? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over 
the bright hour of gayety ; or spread a deeper sadness over the 
hour of gloom" ; yet who would exchange it, even for the song 
of pleasure, or the burst of revelry'? No'; there is a voice from 
the tomb' . . sweeter than song'. There is a remembrance of the 
dead to which we turn' . . even from the charms of the living". 
Oh, the grave'! — the grave'! — It buries every errour" — covers 
every defect" — extinguishes every resentment" ! — From its peace- 
ful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections'. 
Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy", and 
not feel a compunctious throb', that he should ever have warred 
with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him'? 

But the grave of those we loved' — what a place for medita- 
tion'! There it is that we call up in long review the whole his- 
tory of virtue and gentleness', and the thousand endearments 
lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of 
intimacy'; — there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness', the 
solemn', awful tenderness', of the parting scene' — the bed of 
death', with all its stifled griefs' — its noiseless attendants', its 
mute', watchful assiduities' — the last testimonies of expiring 
love' — the feeble', fluttering', thrilling', oh', how thrilling'! . . . 
pressure of the hand' — the last fond look of the glazing eye', 
turning upon us even from the threshold of existence' — the 
faint', faltering accents', struggling in death to give one more 
assurance of affection'! 

Ay', go to the grave of buried love' , and meditate'! There 

*In'f4nt — not, in'ftmt. b Fr6m— not, frum. 



Chap. II. CHARACTER OF BONAPARTE. 179 

settle the account with thy conscience' . . for every past benefit 
unrequited' — every past endearment unregarded', of that de- 
parted being who can never' . . never' . . . never return to be 
soothed by thy contrition'! W thou art a child' , and hast ever 
added a sorrow to the soul', or a furrow to the silvered brow', 
of an affectionate parent' — if thou art a husband', and hast 
ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness 
in thy arms', to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth' 
— if thou art a friend\ and hast ever wronged', in thought', or 
word', or deed', the spirit that generously confided in thee' — if 
thou art a lover and hast ever given one unmerited pang to 
that true heart which now lies coid and still beneath thy feet'; 
then be sure that every unkind look', every ungracious word', 
every ungentle action', will come thronging back upon thy 
memory', and knocking dolefully at thy soul" — then be sure 
that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave', 
and utter the unheard groan', and pour the unavailing tear', . . . 
more deep', more bitter', because' .... unheard' . . and un- 
availing". 

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers , and strew* the beauties 
of nature about the grave 1 ; console thy broken spirit', if thou 
canst', with these tender', yet futile' , h tributes of regret'; — but 
take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over 

and 
the discharge of thy duties to the living' 



SECTION VIII. 

Character of Bonaparte, written after his second Abdication. 
Phillips. 

The bloody drama of Europe is concluded'; and the great 
tragedian', who', for twenty years', has made the earth his the- 
atre', and set the world in tears', has left the stage forever'. 
He lifted the curtain with his sword', and filled the scenes with 
slaughter'. His part w 7 as invented by himself, and was ter- 
ribly unique'. d Never was there so ambitious' , so restless a 
spirit' — never so daring', so fortunate a soldier'. His aim' . . 
was universal dominion', and he gazed at it steadfastly', with 
the eye' . . of the eagle', and the appetite' . . of the vulture'. 

He combined w r ithin himself, all the elements of terrour', 

a Strd. Wtil. 'Trib'ates— not, trib'tts. d U-n£ke' 



180 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

nerve', malice', and intellect 1 ; — a heart' . . that never melv i - 
a hand' . . that never trembled' — a mind' . . that never waverrd 
from its purpose'. The greatness of his plans', defied specula- 
tion'; and the rapidity of their execution', outstripped pro- 
phecy'/ Civilized nations were the victims of his arts'; and 
the savage could not withstand his warfare'. Sceptres' . . crum- 
bled in his grasp', and liberty' . . withered in his presence'. The 
Almighty appeared to have intrusted to him the destinies of the 
globe', and he used them to destroy'. He shrouded the sun 
with the. cloud of battle"; and unveiled the night with its fires'. 
His march' . . reversed the course of nature' — the flowers of 
the Spring' . . perished'; the fruits of Autumn' . . fell', for his 
track was cold', and cheerless', and desolate', like the withering', 
wintry blast'. Amid all the physical', political', and moral 
changes which he produced', he was still the same'. Always 
ambitious', always inexorable" — no conquests satisfied', no 
compassion assuaged', no remorse deterred', no dangers alarmed 
him'. Like the barbarians, he conquered Italy'; and, rolling 
back to its source the deluge that overwhelmed Rome', he 
proved himself the Attila of the South'. With Hannibal', he 
crossed the Alps in triumph'. Africa beheld him a second 
Scipio'; and', standing on the pyramids of Egypt', he looked 
dowm on the fame of Alexander'. He fought the Scythian in 
his cave'; and the unconquered Arab fled before him'. He 
won', divided', and ruled' . . nearly all of modern Europe'. It 
became a large French province', where foreign kings still 
reigned by courtesy', or mourned in chains'. The Roman 
Pontiff was his prisoner'; and he claimed dominion over the 
altar with the God of Hosts'. Even his NAME' .. inspired 
universal terrour' ; and the obscurity of his designs',* 3 rendered 
him awfully mysterious'. The navy of Great Britain' . . 
watched him with the eyes of Argus'; and her coast was lined 
with soldiers who slept on their arms'. He made war' . . be- 
fore he declared it'; and peace . . was, with him, a signal for 
hostilities'. His friends were the first whom he assailed'; 
and his allies 6 he selected to plunder'. 

There was a singular opposition between his alleged motives 
and his conduct'. He would have enslaved the land to make 
the ocean free', and he wanted only power to enslave both'. If 
he was arrogant', his unparalleled successes must excuse him'. 
Who could endure the giddiness of such a mountain elevation'? 
Who', that amid the slaughter of millions had escaped unhurt', 
would not suppose', like Achilles'/ that a deity had lent him 

'Prdf^sd. b In-£ks'<yr&-bl. cRur't^se. <*De-sinez'. e Al'llze. f A-kll'l£ze 



Chap. II. CHARACTER OF BONAPARTE. 181 

armour'? Who that had risen from such obscurity 1 , overcome 
such mighty obstacles', vanquished so many monarchs , won 
such extensive empires', and enjoyed so absolute sway' — who', 
in the fulness of unequalled power', and in the pride of exult- 
ing ambition', would not believe himself the favourite of heaven'? 

He received the tribute of fear', and love', and admiration' 
The weight of the chains which he imposed on France', wai* 
forgotten in their splendour': — it was glorious to follow him' 
even as a conscript'. The arts became servile a in his praise' 
and genius divided with him her immortal honours': for it i? 
mind alone that can triumph over time' — letters only yield per 
manent renown'. 

The blood-stained soldier adorned his throne with the tro- 
phies'' of art', and made Paris the seat of taste 1 , as well as of 
power'. There' . . the old and the new world met and con- 
versed'; there' . . time was then robbed of his scythe', lingering 
among beauties which he could not destroy'; there the heroes 
and sages of every age', mingled in splendid alliance', and 
joined in the march of fame'. They will appeal to posterity 
to mitigate the sentence which humanity claims against the 
tyrant Bonaparte'. Awful indeed will be that sentence'; but 
when will posterity be a disinterested tribunal'] When will the 
time arrive that Europe shall have put off mourning for his' . . 
crimes'? In what distant recess of futurity' . . will the memory 
of Moscow' . . sleep'? When will Jena', Gerona', and Auster- 
litz v — when will Jaffa', Corunna', and Waterloo', be named' . . 
without tears of anguish', and vows of retribution'? Earth can 
never forget' — man can never forget' . . them'. 

Let him live', if he can endure life', divested of his crown — 
without an army' — and', almost', without a follower'. Let him 
live' — he who never spared his friends', if he can bear the 
humiliation of owing his life to an enemy' . Let him live', and 
listen to the voice of conscience'. Fie can no longer drown it 
in " the clamorous report of war'." No cuiras d guards his 
bosom from the arrows of remorse'. Now that the cares of 
state have ceased to distract his thoughts', let him reflect on his 
miserable self'; and with the map before him', retrace his 
bloody career'. Alas'! his life is a picture of ruin', and the 
light that displays it', is the funeral torch of nations 1 . It ex- 
hibits 6 one mighty sepulchre', crowded with the mangled vic- 
tims of murderous ambition' . Let him reflect on his enormous 
abuse of power', on his violated faith', and shameless disregard 
of all law and justice'. Let him live and repent' — let him 

aSSr'vil. b Tr6'fiz. ^iz-ln'tdr^st-Sd. ^Kwh-As'. e Egz-hib'its. 
13 



182 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

seek tc atone', in humility and solitude', for the sins of his po 
litical life' — an example' . . of the catastrophe' . . of wicked', 
and the vanity' . . of false', greatness'. Great' . . he unques- 
tionably was' — great in the resources of a misguided spirit' — 
great in the conception and execution of evil 1 — great in mis- 
chief ', like the pestilence' — great in desolation', like the whirl 
wind'. 



SECTION IX. 
Bunker-Hill Monument. — Webster. 

Extract from a Speech delivered at the laying of the corner-stone. 

We know', indeed', that the record of illustrious actions', is 
most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of man 
kind'. We know', that', if we could cause this structure to 
ascend', not only till it reached the skies', but till it pierced 
them', its broad surfaces could still contain but a part of that 
which', in an age of knowledge', has already been spread over 
the earth', and which history charges itself with making known 
to all future times'. We know that no inscription', on entabla- 
tures less broad than the earth itself , can carry information ot 
the events we commemorate where it has not already gone', 
and that no structure which shall not outlive the duration of 
letters and of knowledge among men', can prolong the memo- 
rial. But our object is', by this edifice', to show our deep sense 
of the value and importance of the achievements* of our an- 
cestors'; and', by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye', 
to keep alive similar sentiments', and to foster a constant regard 
for the principles of the Revolution'. Human beings are com- 
posed', not of reason only', but of imagination ' , also', and 
sentiment'; and that is neither wasted nor misapplied which is 
appropriated to the purpose of giving right direction to senti- 
ments', and of opening proper springs of feeling in the heart'. 

Let it not be supposed', that our object is to perpetuate na- 
tional hostility*, or even to cherish a mere military spirit'. I 
is higher', purer', nobler'. We consecrate our work to the 
spirit of national independence'; and we wish that the light 
of peace may rest upon it forever'. We rear a memorial of 
our conviction of that unmeasured benefit which has been con- 
ferred on our land', and of the happy influences which have 

*At-tsh£ve'm£nts — not, -mwnts. 



Chap. II. HEZEKIAH, KING OF JUDAH. 183 

been produced', by the same events', on the genera] interests of 
mankind'. We come', as Americans', to mark a spot which 
must forever be dear to us and to our posterity.'. We wish that 
whosoever', in all coming time', shall turn his eye hither', may 
behold that the place is not undistinguished where the first 
great battle of the Revolution was fought'. We wish that this 
structure* may proclaim the magnitude and importance of that 
event', to every class and every age'. We wish that infancy 
may learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips'; and 
that wearied and withered age may behold it and be solaced by 
the recollections which it suggests'. We wish that labour may 
look up here and be proud in the midst of its toil'. We wish 
that', in those days of disaster which', as they come on all na- 
tions', may be expected to come on us also', desponding patriot- 
ism 1 " may turn its eyes hitherward', and be assured that the 
foundations of our national power still stand strong'. We 
wish', that this column', rising towards heaven among the 
pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God', may con- 
tribute also to produce', in all minds', a pious feeling of de- 
pendance and gratitude'. We wish', finally', that the last ob- 
ject on the sight of him who leaves his native shore', and the 
first to gladden his heart who revisits it', may be something 
which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his 
country'. Let it rise', till it meets the sun in his coming': let 
the earliest light of the morning gild it', and parting day linger 
and play on its summit'. 



SECTION X. 

Hezekiah, King of Judah. — Gleig. 

Samaria fell, and Israel ceased to be an independent state 
in the year 719, B. C. In the mean while, Ahaz, the impious 
king of Judah, had been succeeded by his son Hezekiah, a 
prince in every respect worthy to sit upon the throne of David, 
lie no sooner grasped the reins of government, than he applied 
himself sedulously to the task of reforming the many abuses 
which the wickedness of his predecessors had introduced. 
Ahaz's idolatrous altar he withdrew from the temple, and re- 
stored the original, that of Solomon, to its place ; and after 
cleansing the building itself from the pollutions which had been 

'Struk'tshire. tP£'tr£-ut-Izm. 



184 SELECTIONS IN PilOSE. 

introduced into it, he threw open its gates for publick worship 
He then summoned the priests and Le^vites together, ordered 
them to sanctify themselves according to the directions given in 
the law, and appointed them to offer proper sacrifices* in atone- 
ment for the sins both of king and people. Not satisfied 
with this, after a consultation with the leading men in the na- 
tion, he determined to renew the solemn festivals which had, 
unhappily, fallen into disuse ; and the feast of the passover was, 
in consequence, kept with a splendour unknown since the days 
of Solomon. Finally, he caused every graven image, or other 
symbol of idolatry, throughout his dominions, to be destroyed, 
involving in .the common ruin, Moses' brazen serpent, which 
the people had latterly been induced to worship ; and putting 
the priests in fresh courses, he restored to them and to the Le- 
vites the tithes and first fruits, which his less worthy predeces- 
sors had appropriated. . In a word, Hezekiah exhibited, 1 " in all 
his conduct, an extraordinary zeal for the true religion ; and 
he was rewarded by numerous and striking interpositions of 
divine power in his favour. 

While the Assyrians were employed in the subjugation of 
Samaria, Hezekiah carried his arms, with signal success, against 
the hereditary enemies of Judea, the Philistines. From these 
he not only recovered all the conquests which they had made 
during the late war with Pckah and Rezin, but pursuing his 
conquests farther, dispossessed them of almost all their own 
territories, except Gaza and Gath. Imboldened by so much 
good fortune, and confident in the assistance of Jehovah, he 
next refused to continue the tribute to the crown of Assyria, 
which his father had undertaken to pay ; and he was saved 
from, at. least, the immediate consequence of his courage, by 
the necessity under which Shalmaneser lay of reducing certain 
provinces of Syria and Phoenicia, which had revolted from him. 
Nor was the Assyrian monarch ever in a condition to accom- 
plish his threat of hurling Hezekiah from the throne, inasmuch 
as he died while carrying on the siege of Tyre, without having 
brought that project, to a successful termination. 

About this time, Hezekiah was affected with a severe dis- 
temper ; and the prophet Isaiah came to him with a command 
from God " to set his house in order, because he would surely 
die." This was a mortifying announcement to an upright 
prince, who, entertaining no correct notions of a future d state 
of happiness, centred all his hopes and wishes in earthly pros- 

. 'S&k'krS'fl-zfez. »>Egz-hIb'lt-£d. c Eks-tr6r'd£-nar-S. * Fft'tshftre— 
not, f&'tshur. 



Oliap. II. HEZEKIAH, KING OF JUDAH. 185 

perity ; and he accordingly prayed with fervour and bitter en- 
treaty, that Jehovah would not carry the sentence of death into 
immediate execution. God was pleased to listen to the cry of 
his faithful vicegerent, and again sent to him the prophet Isaiah, 
who dressed the ulcer with which he was afflicted with a plaster 
of figs, and restored him to health ; having previously caused 
the shadow to go back upon the sundial ten full degrees, in tes 
timony that his simple remedy would prove efTectual. 

The pious king was scarcely recovered from his distemper 
when Sennacherib, who had succeeded his father, Shalmaneser, 
on the throne of Assyria, advanced with a prodigious army 
against him. Incapable of meeting in the field a force so over- 
whelming, Hezekiah contented himself with throwing garrisons 
into his fortified towns , putting Jerusalem in a state of defence, 
and providing it with an ample supply of military stores,, at the 
same time that he despatched ambassadors to solicit the alliance 
of So, king of Egypt, between whom and the Assyrian mon- 
arch numerous grounds of hostility existed. The latter ar- 
rangement, however, was highly disapproved by the prophet, 
both as it implied a want of confidence in the protection of 
Jehovah, and as a measure fraught with no good consequences : 
and of the truth of the latter declaration, no great time elapsed 
ere Hezekiah received the most convincing testimony. The 
king of Egypt made no movement* whatever to support him ; 
and Hezekiah, finding that his towns were, b one after another, 
falling, was compelled to implore the clemency of Sennacherib, 
and to promise a strict submission to such terms as he should 
condescend to impose. But the demands of Sennacherib were 
at once exceedingly grievous, and made with no honest intent. 
He caused Hezekiah to pay a subsidy of three hundred talents 
of silver, and thirty talents of gold ; to raise which, the good 
king was compelled, not only to exhaust his treasury, but to 
strip, from the very doors of the temple, the gold with which 
they were adorned ; and then, after a short truce, which he 
himself spent in conducting an expedition into Ethiopia, he re- 
newed his hostile d intentions towards Judea. For the second 
time Sennacherib invested Lachish, a town of some importance 
in South Judah, and sent thence three of his principal officers 
to demand the surrender of Jerusalem itself. 

It is not to be wondered at, if Hezekiah felt both alarmed 
and distressed when the insolent and blasphemous messages of 
which they were bearers, were delivered to him by the Assy- 
nan generals. Hoping, however, that even now God would 

a M6ov'm£nt. b W£r— not, wire. c Egz-hiwst'. d H6s , til. 
18* 



1S<5 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

not desert him, he carried Sennacherib's letter into the temple, 
and spreading it before the altar, besought Jehovah to vindicate 
his own honour, by humbling the pride of him who thus dared 
to insult him. Hezekiah was not deceived in his expectations. 
The prophet Isaiah came to him with a declaration that Sen- 
nacherib should not be permitted, under any circumstances, to 
accomplish his threats ; and the promise was strictly fulfilled on 
two separate occasions. In the first instance, Sennacherib, 
while employed in the siege of Libnah, was alarmed by a ru- 
mour that his own dominions had been invaded by a band of 
Cuthite Arabians, to oppose whose progress he found it neces- 
sary to march back with all haste ; and though he overthrew 
them in a great battle, his second attempt upon Jerusalem 
proved equally abortive, and more disastrous in its issue. He 
arrived, indeed, in the vicinity of the city, took up his position 
with great parade, and once more defied, by his heralds, " the 
living God ;" but that very night the blast of the Simoom* came 
upon his camp, and upwards of eighty thousand of his bravest 
soldiers perished. Sennacherib himself did not long survive 
this defeat. He fled in dismay to Nineveh, where he was soon 
afterward murdered in the temple of the god Nisroch, by two 
of his sons, who made their escape into Armenia, and left the 
succession open to Esar-haddon, their younger brother. 



Destruction of SennacheriVs Army. — Byron. 

The Assyrian came down', like the wolf on the fold'., 
And his cohorts were gleaming- in purple and gold'; 
And the sheen of their spears', was like stars on the sea', 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee 1 . 

Like the leases of the forest 1 , when summer is green', 
That host', with their banners', at sunset were seen 1 : 
Like the leaves of the forest 1 , when autumn hath blown', 
That host', on the morrow', lay withered and strown 1 : 

For the Angel of Death' . . spread his wings on the blast 
And breathed'. . in the face of the foe' . . as he passed': 
And the eyes of the sleepers 1 . . waxed deadly and chill', 
And their hearts but once heaved', and forever grew still 1 . 

♦Then the angel of the Lord went forth, and smote, in The camp of the Assyr- 
ians, a hundred and four score and five thousand: and when they arose early in 
the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.— Isaiah. 



Chap. II. psalm 137. 187 

And there lay the steed", with his nostril all wide'; 
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride', 
And the foam of his gasping', lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider', distorted and pale', 
With the dew on his brow', and the rust on his mail'; 
And the tents were all silent', the banners', alone', 
The lances', unlifled', the trumpet', unblown'. 

And the widows of Asher' . . are loud in their wail'; 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal'; 
And the might of the Gentile', unsmote by the sword' 
Hath melted', like snow 7 , in the glance of the Lord'. 



SECTION XI. 
Psalm 137. 

By the rivers of Babylon', there we sat down': yea', we 
wept when we remembered Zion'. We hanged our harps upon 
the willows in the midst thereof: for there', they that carried 
us away captive', demanded of us a song 1 ; and they that wasted 
us', required of us mirth', saving', " Sing us one of the songs 
of Zion'." 

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land'? 

If I forget thee', O Jerusalem', 8 let my right hand forget her 
cunning'. If I do not remember thee', let my tongue cleave to 
the roof of my mouth', if I prefer not Jerusalem 1 above my 
chief joy'. 



Version of the same. — Barlow. 

Ai/>\g the banks where Babel's current b flows', 
Our captive bands in deep despondence strayed' 

While Zion's fall in sad remembrance rose', 

Her friends', her children', mingled with the dead'. 

The tuneless harp', that once with joy we strung', 
When praise employed', and mirth inspired', the lay 7 , 

"Je-ru's&'lem. b Kur'rent — not, cur 'ant. c D£-sp6nd ense — not, dis 
pondunse. 



188 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

In mournful silence* on the willows hung', 

And growing grief prolonged the tedious day'. 

The barbarous tyrants', to increase the wo', 
With taunting smiles a song of Zion claim 1 ; 

Bid sacred praise in streams melodious flow', 

While they blaspheme the great Jehovah's nama\ 

But how 7 , in heathen chains', and lands unknown', 
Shall Israel's sons a song of Zion raise 1 ? 

O', hapless Salem 1 ! 11 God's terrestrial throne 1 ! 
Thou land of glory', sacred mount of praise* 

If e'er* my memory d lose thy lovely name', 
If my cold heart neglect my kindred raoe', 

Let dire destruction seize this guilty frame': 

My hand shall perish', and my voice shall cease' 

Yet shall the Lord', who hears when Zion calls', 
O'ertake her foes with terrour and dismay 1 ; 

His arm avenge her desolated walls', 
And raise her children to eternal day 1 . 



Version of the same. — Byron. 

We sat down and wept by the waters' 
Of Babel', and thought of the day' 

When our foe', in the house of his slaughter!/ 
Made Salem's b high places his prey 1 ; 

And ye', oh', her desolate daughters'! 
Were scattered all weeping away 1 . 

While sadly we gazed on the river' 
Which rolled on in freedom below', 

They demanded the song 1 ; but', oh', never' 
That triumph the stranger shall know 1 ! 

May this right hand be withered forever 1 , 
Ere c it string our high harp for the foe 1 ! 

On the willow that harp is suspended', 
Oh Salem 1 ! 11 its sound should be free 1 ; 

"Sl'lense. l Sa'lem. c& re . dMem'ur-rS 



Chap. II. wolsey's address to cromwell. 189 

And the hour when thy glories were ended' 

But left me that token of thee 1 : 
And ne'er a shall its soft tones be blended' 

With the voice of the spoiler' . . by me'. 



SECTION XII. 

Cardinal Wolsey's Soliloquy on Ambition. — Shakst-eare 

Farewell', a long farewell', to all my greatness'! 
This is the state of man': — to-day he puts b forth 
The tender leaves of hope'; to-morrow', blossoms', 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him': 
The third day', comes a frost*, a killing frost'; 
And', — when he thinks', good', easy man', full surely 
His greatness is a ripening', — nips his root', 
And then he falls', as I do'. I have ventured', 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders', 
These many summers in a sea of glory'; 
But far beyond my depth*. My high-blown pride 
At length d broke under me 1 ; and now has left me' 
Weary', and old with service', to the mercy 
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me*. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world', I hate you': 
I feel my heart new opened*. O', how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours'! 
There are', betwixt that smile he would aspire to', 
That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin', 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have': 
And when he falls', he falls', like Lucifer', 
Never to hope again*. e 



SECTION XIII. 

Cardinal Wolsey's Farewell Address to Cromwell, 
Shakspeare. 

Cromwell', I did not think to shed a tear 

In all my miseries'; but thou hast forced me', 

Out of thy honest truth', to play the woman\ 

Let's dry our eyes': and', thus far', hear me', Cromwell': 

•Nire. l Put — u in bull. c Him — not, upon im. d Lhngth — not, lenf/» 
A-gen'. 



190 SELECTIONS I1V POETRY. 

And', — when I am forgotten\ as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull', cold marble', where no mention 

Of me more must be heard of,- -say', J taught thee'; 

Say', Wolsey\ that once trod the ways of glory\ 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour', 

Found thee a way', out of his wreck', to rise in'; 

A sure and safe one', though thy master' . . missed it', 

Mark but my fall', and that that ruined me'. 

Cromwell', I charge thee', fling away aanbition'. 

By that sin fell the angels*. How can man', then', 

The image of his Maker', hope to win by it'? 

Love thyself last*: cherish those hearts that hate thee'. 

Corruption wins not more than honestyfl 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace', 

To silence* envious tongues'. Be just', and fear not 1 ! 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at', be thy country's*. 

Thy God's', and truth's': then', if thou fallest', b O, Cromwell' 

Thou fallest b a blessed martyr'. 

O', Cromwell', Cromwell'! 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my king', he would not', in my age', 

Have left me naked to my enemies'. 



SECTION XIV. 

Hohejilinden. — Campbell. 

On Linden', c when the sun was low', 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow', 
And dark as winter was the flow' 
Of Iser' d rolling rapidly'. 

But' . . Linden c saw another sight/, 
When the drum beat', at dead of night', 
Commanding fires of death to light' 
The darkness of her scenery' 

By torch and trumpet' . . fast arrayed', 
Each horseman e drew his battle-blade', 
And furious every charger neighed' 
To join the dreadful revelry'. 

•Sl'lense — not, si 'lance. b F&U'lest. c L!n'den — not, Lln'dun. d E'sSr 
•H6rse'm&n — not, hos'mwn. 



Chap. II. BURIAL OF SIR JOHN ftlOORB. 193 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven', 
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven 1 , 
And', louder than the bolts of heaven', 
Far /lashed the red artillery 1 . 

And redder yet those fires shall glow', 
On Linden's 3 hills of blood-stained snow'. 
And darker yet shall be the flow' 
Of Jser', b rolling rapidly'. 

'Tis morn': . . . but scarce yon lurid sun' 
Can pierce the war-clouds' rolling dun', 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun' 
Shout' ... in their sulph'rous canopy'. 

The combat deepens'.— ON', ye brave', 

Who rush to glory', or' . . . the grave I 

Wave', Munich', all thy banners icdve^! 

And charge with all thy chivalry'! 

Ah'! few shall part', where many meeVl 
The snow' . . shall be their winding-sheeV 
And every turf beneath their feet' 
Shall be' ... a soldier's sepulchre\ 



SECTION XV. 
The Burial of Sir John Moore. — Wolfe. 

Not a drum was heard', nor a funeral note', 

As his corse d o'er the rampart we hurried', 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot', 

O'er the grave where our hero was buried'. 

We buried him darkly', at dead of night', 
The sod with our bayonets e turning', 
•y the trembling moon-beam's misty light', 
And our lantern dimly burning'. 

No useless coffin f enclosed his breast', 

Nor in sheet', nor in shroud', we bound him'; 

But he lay' . . . like a warriour taking his rest', 
With his martial cloak around him'. 

^Lln'den— not, Lln'dun. KE'ser. c Kum'bat. d K6rse. e B£'y&n'£tfl 
K6f'fln 



192 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Few and short were the prayers we said', 

We spoke not a word of sorrow'; 
But steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead', 

And bitterly thought' . . of the morrow'. 

We thought', as we hollowed his narrow bed', 
And smoothed down his lowly pillow', 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head', 
And we' ... far away o'er the billow*. 

Lightly they'll speak of the spirit that's gone', 
And o'er his cold ashes' . . upbraid him ; 

But little he'll reck', if they let him sleep on' 

In the grave where his comrades a have laid him'. 

Not the half of our heavy task was done', 
When the boll told the hour for retiring*; 

And we knew', by the distant random gun', 
That the foe was then sullenly firing*. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down', 

From the field of his fame' . . fresh and gory'* 

We carved not a line', we raised not a stone', 
But left him alone' . . with his glory*. 



SECTION XVI. 
Messiah. — Pope. 

A Sacred Eclogue. 

Ye nymphs of Solyma'! b begin the song': 
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong*. 
The mossy fountains', and the sylvan shades', 
The dreams of Pindus', and the Aonian maids', 
Delight no more*. — O, Thou my voice inspire 
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire*! 

Rapt into future times', the bard begun*: 
A virgin shall conceive*, a virgin bear a Son 1 : 
From Jesse's root', behold a branch arise', 
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies*; 
The -ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move', 
And on its top descends the mystick dove*. 
Ye heavens'! from high the dewy nectar pour', d 
And', in soft silence', shed the kindly shower*! 

a Knm'radez. l Sol'y-ma, Jerusalem. c Fr«L'granse. Q Pdu.r, in rhyra* i 
out of it, p6re. 



Chap. II. messiah. 103 

The sick and weak'. . the healing plant shall aid', 
From storms a shelter', and from heat a shade 1 . 
All crimes shall cease', and ancient frauds shall fail'; 
Returning Justice' . . lift aloft her scale'; 
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend', 
And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend'. 
Swift fly the years', and rise', the expected morn'! 
Oh', spring to light', auspicious Babe', be born'! 
See', Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring' 
With all the incense of the breathing spring': 
See lofty Lebanon his head advance'; 
See nodding forests on the mountains dance': 
See spicy clouds from lowly Saron* rise'; 
And Carmel's flowery top perfume the skies'! 
Hark'! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers'; 
Prepare the way'! A God', a GOD appears'! 
A God', a God', the vocal hills reply'; 
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity'. 
Lo', earth receives him from the bending skies'! 
Sink down 1 , ye mountains'; and', ye valleys', rise'! 
With heads declined', ye cedars', homage b pay'; 
-Be smooth', ye rocks'; ye rapid floods', give way'. 
The Saviour comes'! by ancient bards foretold': 
Hear him', ye deaf'; c and all ye blind', behold'! 
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray', 
And on the sightless eye-ball pour d the day': 
'Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear', 
And bid new musick charm the unfolding ear': 
The dumb shall sing', the lame his crutch forego', 
And leap', exulting', like the bounding roc'. 
No sigh', no murmur', the wide world shall hear'; 
From every face he wipes off every tear'. 
In adamantine chains shall death be bound', 
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound'. 
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care', 
Seeks freshest pasture', and the purest air'; 
Explores the lost', the wandering', sheep directs' 
By day o'ersees them', and by night protects'; 
The tender lambs he raises in his arms', 
Feeds from his hand', and in his bosom warms'* 
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage 1 
The promised father of the future age 1 . 

'Si'ron »-H6m'Aje c Def. d P6re. 
17 



194 SELECTIONS IN POETRV. 

No more shall nation against nation rise', 

Nor ardent warriours meet with hateful eyes', 

Nor fields with gleaming- steel be covered o'er*, 

The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more'; 

But' . . useless lances into scythes shall bend', 

And the broad falchion 3 in a plough-share end 1 . 

Then', palaces shall rise'; the joyful son' 

Shall finish what his short-lived sire' . . bcgun^; 

Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield', 

And', b the same hand that sowed', shall reap', the field*. 

The swain', in barren deserts', with surprise' 

Sees lilies spring', and b sudden verdure rise'; 

And b starts', amidst the thirsty wilds', to hear' 

New falls of water', murmuring in his ear'; 

On rifled rocks', the dragon's late abodes', 

The green reed trembles', and 1 ' the bulrush nods 1 . 

Waste sandy valleys', once perplexed with thorn', 

The spiry fir and shapely box adorn 1 : 

To leafless shrubs the flowery palms succeed', 

And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed 1 . 

The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead', 

And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead 11 ; 

The steer and lion at one crib shall meet', 

And harmless serpents' . . lick the pilgrim's feet 1 . 

The smiling infant in his hand shall take' 

The crested basilisk and speckled snake 1 , 

Pleased', the green lustre of the scales survey', 

And with their forky tongues shall innocently play 1 . 

Rise 1 , crowned with light 1 , imperial Salem', rise 1 ! 

Exalt thy towcry head', and lift thy eyes 1 ! 

See a long race thy spacious courts adorn 1 ; 

See future sons', and daughters yet. unborn', 

In crowding ranks', on every side', arise', 

Demanding life\ impatient for the skies'! 

See barbarous nations at thy gates attend 1 , 

Walk in thy light', and in thy temple bend 1 ; 

See thy bright altars', thronged with prostrate kings, 

And heaped with products of Sabean springs 1 ! 

For thee Idume's spicy forests blow', 

And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow 1 . 

See heaven its sparkling portals wide display', 

And break upon them in a flood of day v ! 

"Fal'shun. b and — not, «nd. c In'fant — not, in/fant. 



Chap. II. THE MOTHER'S PICTURE 195 

No more the rising sun shall gild the morn'. 
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn'; 
But lost', dissolved', in thy superiour rays', 
One tide of glory', one unclouded blaze', 
O'erfiow thy courts': the Light himself shall shine' 
Revealed', and God's eternal day be thine'! 
The seas shall waste', the skies in smoke decay', 
Rocks fall to dust', and mountains melt away'; 
But fixed his word', his saving power remains'; 
Thy realm forever lasts', thy own Messiah reigns'' 



SECTION XVII. 
On receiving his Mother's Picture. — Cowper. 

that those lips had language'! Life has passed' 
With me but roughly since I heard* thee last'. 
Those lips are thine' — thy own sweet smile I see', 
The same', that oft in childhood solaced me': 
Voice only fails', else', how distinct they say', 
"Grieve not', my b child', chase all thy fears away'"' 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes', 

(Blest be the art that can immortalize'; 
The art that baffles Time's tyrannick claim' 
To quench it',) here shines on me still the same'. 

laithful remembrancer of one so dear', 
O', welcome guest', though unexpected here'! 
Who bidd'st me honour', with an artless song', 
Affectionate', a Mother lost so long'. 

1 will obey', not willingly alone', 

But gladly', as the precept were her own': 
And while that face renews my' 1 filial grief, 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my b relief — 
Shall steep me in Elysian revery', 
A momentary dream', that thou art she'. 

My Mother'! when I learned that thou wast dead 
Say', wast thou conscious of the tears I shed'? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son', 
Wretch even then', hle's journey just begun'? 
Perhaps thou gav'st me', though unfelt', a kiss'; 
Perhaps a tear', if souls can weep in bliss' — 
Ah', that maternal smile'! it answers' . . . Yes'. 

*Herd. b M£. c Wer 



196 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

1 heard the bell tolled on thy burial day'; 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away', 
And', turning from my nursery window', drew' 
A long', long sigh', and wept a last adieu'! 
But was it such'/ It wa"s\ Where thou art gone's 
Adieus and farewells are a a sound unknown*. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore', 
The parting word shall pass my lips no more 
Thy maidens', grieved themselves at my concern', 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return'. 
What ardently I wished', I long believed', 
And', disappointed still', was still deceived'. 
By expectation every day beguiled', 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child': 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went', 
Till', all my stock of infant sorrow spent', 
I learned', at last', submission to my lot', 
But', though I less deplored thee', ne'er 1 ' forgot 

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor'; 
And where the gardener Robin', day by day', 
Drew me to school along the publick way', 
Delighted with my bawble coach', and wrapped' 
In scarlet mantle warm', and velvet capped', 
'Tis now become a history little known', 
That once we called the pastoral house our own'. 
Short-lived possession'! but the record fair' 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there', 
Still outlives many a storm that lias effaced' 
A thousand other themes less deeply traced'. 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made', 
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid'; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home', 
The biscuit', or confectionary plum'; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed' 
By thy own hand', till fresh they shone and glowed'. 
All this', and more endearing still than all', 
Thy constant flow of love', that knew no fall', 
Ne'er 1 ' roughened by those cataracts and breaks' 
That', humour d interposed', too often makes'; 
All this', still legible in memory's page', 
And still to be so to my latest age', 

»&r. b Mre. c Tshame'bu.r. d Yu'm&r. 



Chap. II. the mother's picture. 197 

Adds joy to duty', makes me glad to pay' 

Such honours to thee as my numbers may'; 

Perhaps a frail memorial', but sincere', 

Not scorned in heaven', though little noticed here'. 

Could time', his flight reversed', restore the hours', 
When', playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers', 
The violet 1 , the pink', and jessamine', 
I pricked them into paper with a pin', 
(And thou wast happier than myself the while', 
Would'st softly speak', and stroke my head', and smile',) 
Could those few pleasant days again appear', 
Might one wish bring them', would I w ish them here'? 
I would not trust my heart': the dear delight' 
Seems so to be desired', perhaps I might' — 
But no' — what here we call our life', is such', 
So little to be loved', and thou so much', 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain' 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again'. 

Thou', as a gallant bark from Albion's coast', 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed',) 
• Shoots into port at some well-havened isle', 

Where spices breathe', and brighter seasons smile', 

There sits quiescent on the floods', that show 7 

Her beauteous form reflected clear below', 

While airs impregnated with incense play' 

Around her', fanning light her streamers gay'; — 

So thou', with sails how swift'! hast reached the shore', 

." Where tempests never beat', nor billows roar';" 

And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide' 

Of life', long since', has anchored by thy side'. 

But me', scarce hoping to attain that rest', 

Always from port withheld', always distressed', 

Me howling blasts drive devious', tempest tossed', 

Sails ripped', seams opening wide', and compass lost', 

And', day by day', some current's 11 thwarting force' 

Sets me more distant from a prosperous course'. 

Yet', O', the thought', that thou art safe', and he'! — 

That thought is joy', arrive what may to me'. 

My boast is not', that I deduce my birth' 

From loins enthroned', and rulers of the earth ; 

But higher far my proud pretensions rise', 

The son of parents 6 passed into the skies'. 

a Kur'rents — not, kur'rwnts. b P£'r6nts. 
17* 



198 SELECTIONS *N POETRY. 

And now', farewell*. Time unrevoked has run' 
His wonted course', yet what I wished', is done'. 
By contemplation's help', not sought in vain', 
I seem t' have lived my childhood o'er again '; a 
To have renewed the joys that once were mine', 
Without the sin of violating thine'; 
And', while the wings of fancy still are free', 
And I can view this mimick show of thee', 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft', 
Thyself removed', thy power to sooth me', left 1 . 



SECTION XVI11. 
Man was made to Mourn. — Burns. 



(The reader is desired to pay particular attention to the Rhetorical marks and to the 
words pronounced at the bottom of the pages.) 

When chill November's surly blast' 

Made fields and forests bare',- 
One evening, as I wandered forth' 

Along the banks of Ayr', 
I spied a man whose aged step' 

Seemed weary\ worn with care'; 
His face was furrowed o'er with years', 

And hoary was his hair'. 

Young stranger', whither wand'rest thou'? 

Began the rev'rend sage'; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain', 

Or youthful pleasure's rage'? 
Or', haply', prest with cares and woes', 

Too soon thou hast began' 6 
To wander forth with me', to mourn' 

The miseries of man'. 

The sun that overhangs yon moors', 

Outspreading far and wide', 
Where hundreds labour to support' 

A haughty lordling's pride' — 
I've seen yon weary winter's sun' 

Twice forty times return 1 ; 
And every time has added proofs', 

That man was made to mourn''. 

O man'! while in thy early years', 

How prodigal of time'! 
Misspending all thy precious hours', 

Thy glorious', youthful prime*. 

a A-gen. b Be-gun. 



Chap. II. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 199 

Alternate 11 follies take the sway', 

Licentious passions burn''; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law', 

That man was made to mourn\ 

Look not alone on youthful prime', 

Or manhood's active might'; 
Man', then', is useful to his kind'; 

Supported is his right 1 ; 
But see him on the edge of life', 

With cares and sorrows worn'; 
Then', age and want", oh'! iZZ-matched pair'! 

Show' . . man was made to mourn'. 

A few seem favourites* of fate', 

In pleasure's lap caressed'; 
Yet think not all the rich and great! 

Are likewise truxy blest': 
But', oh'! what crowds in every land', 

Are wretched and forlorn"; 
Through weary life this lesson learn', 

That man was made to muurn\ 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills' 

Inwoven with our frame'; 
More pointed still we make ourselves\ 

Regret', remorse', and shame'; 
And man', whose heaven-erected face' 

The smiles of love adorn' — 
Man's inhumanity to man', 

Makes countless thousands mourn 1 . 

See yonder poor', o'erlaboured wight', 

So abject', mean', and vile', 
Who begs a brother of the earth' 

To give him leave to toll"; 
And see his lordly fellow- worm' 

The poor petition spurn', 
Unmindful', though a weeping icife', 

And helpless offspring mourn'. 

If I'm designed yon lordling's slave \ 

By nature^s law designed' 
Why was an independent 11 wish' 

E'er e planted in my mind'? 
If not', why am I subject to' 

His cruelty', or scorn'? 
Or why has man the will and power' 

To make his fellow mourn'? 

»&l-tern&te — not, aicZ-ter'nate. l F&'vur-its. c D£-sinde' — not, de-zinde 
In-d6-pen'dent. e &re. 



200 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Yet', let not this too much', my son', 

Disturb thy youthful breast'; 
This partial view of human kind' 

Is surely not the last'. 
The poor', oppressed', honest man', 

Had never sure been born', 
Had there not been some recompense' 

To comfort those that mourn'. 

O death'! the poor man's dearest friend\ 

The kindest and the best'; 
Welcome the hour my a aged limbs' 

Are laid with thee at rest'. 
The great', the wealthy', fear thy blow', 

From pomp and pleasure torn'; 
But', oh'! a blest relief to those' 

That weary-laden' . . . mourn'. 



SECTION XIX. 
To the Sides. — Bryant. 

Ay', gloriously thou standest there', 

Beautiful', boundless firmament'! 6 
That', swelling wide o'er earth and air', 

And round the horizon bent', 
With that bright vault and sapphire wall', 
Dost d overhang and circle all'. 

Far', far below thee', tall gray trees' 

Arise', and piles built up of old', 
And hills', whose ancient summits freeze' 

In the fierce light and cold'. 
The eagle soars his utmost height'; 
Yet far thou stretchiest o'er his flight'. 

Thou hast thy frowns': with thee', on high', 

The storm has made his airy seat': 
Beyond thy soft blue curtain lie' 

His stores of hail and sleet': 
Thence the consuming lightnings break , 
There the strong hurricanes awake': 

Yet art thou prodigal of smiles' — 

Smiles sweeter than thy frowns are stern ,# 

Earth sends', from all her thousand isles', 
A song at their return'; 

The glory that comes down from thee', 

Bathes in deep joy the land and sea'. 

'M£ — when not emphatical. b Fer'ma'ment. c H6-ri'z6n. d D&st, 



'hap. II. THE MUSIOK OF THE OCEAIT. 201 

The sun , the gorgeous sun', is thine 1 — 
The pomp that brings and shuts the day 1 ; 

The clouds that round him change and shine' 
The airs that fan his way'. 

Thence look the thoughtful stars', and there' 

The meek moon walks the silent air 1 . 

The sunny Italy may boast' 

The beauteous teints that flush her skies'; 
And', lovely', round the Grecian coast', 

May thy blue pillars rise 1 : — 
I only know how fair they stand' 
About my own beloved land 1 . 

And they are fair': a charm is theirs', 

That earth' — the proud', green earth' — has not'. 

With all the hues', and forms', and airs', 
That haunt her sweetest spot'. 

We gaze upon thy calm', pure sphere', 

And read of heaven's eternal year'. 

Oh'! when', amid the throng of men', 

The heart grows sick of hollow mirth', 
How willingly we turn us', then'', 

Away from this cold earth', 
And look into thy azure a breast', 
For seats of innocence 1, and rest'! 



SECTION XX. 
The Musick of the Ocean. — Walsh's National Gazette 

"And the people of this place say, that, at certain seasons, beautiful sounds aie 
heard from the ocean." — Mavor's Voyages. 

Lonely and wild it c rose, 
That strain of solemn musick from the sea, 
As though the bright air trembled to disclose 

An ocean mystery. 

Again a low, sweet tone, 
Fainting in murmurs on the listening day, 
Just bade the excited thought its presence own, 

Then died away. 

Once more the gush of sound, 
Struggling and swelling from the heaving plain, 
Thrilled a rich peal triumphantly around, 

And fled again. 

•d'zhure. b In'n6-sense — not, in'no sunse. c Poetick license 



202 SELECTIONS IN POETRY, 

O, boundless deep ! we know 
Thou hast strange wonders in thy gloom concealed, 
Gems, flashing gems, from whose unearthly glow 

Sunlight is sealed. 

And an eternal spring 
Showers her rich colours with unsparing hand, 
Where coral trees their graceful branches fling 

O'er golden sand. 

But tell, O, restless main ! 
Who are the dwellers in thy world beneath, 
That thus the watery realm cannot contain 

The joy they breathe ? 

EmMem of glorious might! 
Are thy wild children like thyself arra) T ed, 
Strong in immortal and unchecked delight, 

Which cannot fade ? 

Or to mankind allied, 
Toiling with wo, and passion's fiery sting, 
Like their own home, where storms or peace preside. 

As the winds bring? 

Alas, for human thought ! 
How does it flee existence, worn and old, 
To winfcompanionship with beings wrought 

Of finer mould ! 

'Tis vain the reckless waves 
Join with loud revel the dim ages flown, 
But keep each secret of their hidden caves 

Dark and unknown. 



SECTION XXI. 

The Ocean, at the Resurrection Morn. — Pollo-ca 

Great Ocean'! too', that morning', thou the call 

Of restitution heardst', and reverently 

To the last trumpet's voice', in silence listenedst'. 

Great Ocean 1 ! strongest of creation's sons', 

Unconquerable', unreposed', untircd', 

That rolledst the wild', profound', eternal base 

In nature's anthem', and madest musick', such 

As pleased the ear of God'! original', 

Unmarred', unfaded' work of Deity', 

And unburlesqued by mortal's puny skill'; 

From age to age enduring' and unchanged', 

Majestical', inimitable', vast'; 

Loud uttering satire', day and night', on each 

Succeeding race', and little', pompous work 



Chap. II. THE OCEAN. 203 

Of man'! — Unfallerr, religious', holy sea'! 

Thou bowed st thy glorious head to none', fearedst none, 

Heardst none', to none didst honour', but to God 

Thy Maker', only worthy to receive 

Thy great obeisance. 1 ! Undiscovered sea'! 

Into thy dark', unknown', mysterious caves 

And secret haunts', unfathomably deep 

Beneath all visible retired', -none went 

And came again to tell the wonders there'. 

Tremendous sea 1 ! what time thou liftedst up 
Thy waves on high', and with thy winds and storms 
Strange pastime took', 3 and shook 3 thy mighty sides 
Indignantly', the pride of navies fell'; 
Beyond the arm of help', unheard', unseen', 
Sunk 1 , friend and foe', with all their wealth and war'; 
And on thy shores', men of a thousand tribes', 
Polite and barbarous', trembling stood', amazed', 
Confounded', terrified', and thought vast thoughts 
Of ruin', boundlessness', omnipotence', 
Infinitude', eternity'; and thought', 

And wondered still', and grasped', and grasped', and grasped 
Again', beyond their reach', exerting all 
The soul to take thy great idea in', 
To comprehend incomprehensible', 
And wondered more', and felt their littleness'. 

Self-purifying', unpolluted sea'! 
Lover unchangeable', thy faithful breast 
Forever heaving to the lovely moon', 
That', like a shy and holy virgin', robed 
In saintly white', walked nightly in the heavens', 
And to thy everlasting serenade 
Gave gracious audience'; nor was wooed in vain'. 
That morning', thou', that slumberedst not before', 
Nor slept', 3 great Ocean'! laidst thy waves at rest', 
And hushed a thy mighty minstrelsey'. No breath 
Thy deep composure stirred', no fin', nor oar'; 
Like beauty newly dead', so calm', so still', 
So lovely', thou', beneath the light that fell 
From angel-chariots', sentinelled on high', 
Reposed', 3 and listened', 3 and saw 3 thy living change', 
Thy dead arise'. 

Chary bdis listened', and Scylla', 
And savage Euxine on the Thracian beach', 
Lay motionless': and every battle-ship 
Stood still', and every ship of merchandise', 
And all that sailed', of every name', stood still'. 
Even as the ship of war', full-fledged' and swift', 
Like some fierce bird of prey', bore on her foe', 
Opposing with as fell intent', the wind 
Fell withered from her wings that idly hung'; 
The stormy bullet', by the cannon thrown 
Uncivilly against the heavenly face 
Of men', half sped', sunk harmlessly', and all 

Toetick license : grammatically, didst take, didst shake, &c 



204 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Her loud', uncircumcised', tempestuous crew', 

(How ill-prepared to meet their God'!) were changed', 

Unchangeable'; — the pilot at the helm 

Was changed', and the rough captain', while he mouthed 

The huge', enormous oath'. The fisherman', 

That in his boat', expectant', watched his lines', 

Or mended on the shore his net', and sung', 

Happy in thoughtlessness', some careless air', 

Heard Time depart', and felt the sudden change* 

In solitary deep', far out from land', 
Or steering from the port with many a cheer', 
Or while returning from long voyage', fraught 
With lusty wealth', rejoicing t' have escaped 
The dangerous main', and plagues of foreign climes'— 
The merchant quaffed his native air', refreshed', 
And saw his native hills', in the sun's light', 
Serenely rise'; and thought of meetings glad', 
And many days of ease and honour' spent 
Among his friends' — unwarned man'; even then 
The knell of Time broke on his revery', 
And', in the twinkling of an eye', his hopes', 
All earthly', perished all': as sudden rose', 
From out their watery beds', the Ocean's dead', 
Renewed', and on the unstirring billows stood', 
From pole to pole', thick covering all the sea' — 
Of every nation blent', and every age'. 

Wherever slept one grain of human dust', 
Essential organ of a human soul', 
Wherever tossed', obedient to the call 
Of God's omnipotence', it hurried on 
To meet its fellow particles', revived', 
Rebuilt', in union indestructible'. 
No atom of his spoils remained to death'. 
From his strong arm', by stronger arm released' 
Immortal now in soul and body both', 
Beyond his reach', stood all the sons of men', 
And saw', behind', his valley lie', unfeared'. 



SECTION XXII. 

Address to the Ocean. — Byron. 

Oh'! that the desert were my dwelling place', 
With one fair spirit for my minister', 
That I might all forget the human race', 
And', hating no one', love but only her'! 
Ye elements". — in whose ennobling stir' 
I feel myself exalted' — Can ye not' 
Accord me such a being ? Do I err' 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot'? 
Though', with them to converse', can rarely be our lot' 



Chap. II. ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 20S 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods', 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore', 
There is' . . society', where none intrudes', 
By the deep sea', and musick in its roar': 
I love not man the less', but nature* more', 
From these our interviews', in which I steal' 
From all I may be', or have been before', 
To mingle with the universe', and feel 
What I can ne'er !j express', yet cannot all conceaV. 

Roll on\ thou deep and dark-blue ocean'— roll'! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vai^'; 
Man marks the earth with ruin'; — his control' 
Stops with the shore'; — upon the watery plain' 
The wrecks are all thy deed', nor doth c remain' 
A shadow of man's ravage', save his own', 
When', for a moment',' 1 like a drop of rain', 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan', 
Without a grave', unknelled', unconined', and unknown 1 . 

His steps are not upon thy paths'; — thy fields' 
Are not a spoil for him'; — thou dost e arise' 
And shake him from thee'; — the vile strength he wields' 
For earth's destruction', thou dost e all despise', 
Spurning him' . . . from thy bosom to the skies', 
And sendst him', shivering', in thy playful spray' 
And howling to his gods', where haply lies' 
His petty hope', in some near port or bay 1 , 
And dashest him again to earth':— there let him lay'. f 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls' 
Of rock-built cities', bidding nations quake', 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals' — 
The oak leviathans', whose huge ribs make' 
Their clay creator the vain title take' 
Of lord of thee', and arbiter of war'; 
These are thy toys', and', as the snowy flake', 
They melt into thy yest of waves', which mar', 
Alike', the Armada's pride', or spoils of Trafalgar. 's 

Thy shores are empires', changed in all save thee' — 
Assyria', Greece', Rome', Carthage', what are they'? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free'. 
And many a tyrant since'; their shores obey' 
The stranger', slave', or savage'; their decay' 
Has dried up realms to deserts': — not so thou', 
Unchangeable', save to thy wild waves' play' — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure h brow' — 
Such' . . as creation's dawn beheld', thou rollest now'. 

Thou glorious mirror', where the Almighty's form' 
Glasses itself in tempests'; in all time', 

"Ni'tshire. KN&re. e Du^. dMo'ment. e^ust. f Lie. sTriW.gki 
*4'zhuxe. 

18 



206 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 



Calm or convulsed 1 — in breeze 1 , or gale', or storm', 
Icing the pole*, or in the torrid clime' 
Dark-heaving'; boundless', endless', and sublime' — 
The image of eternity' — the throne' 
Of the Invisible'; even from out thy slime' 
The monsters of the deep are made'; each 'zone' 
Obeys thee'; thou goest forth' . . dread' . . . fathomless' . . . alone 1 

And I have loved thee', Ocean'! and my joy' 
Of youthful sports', was' . . on thy breast to be' 
Borne', like thy bubbles', onward': from a boy' 
I wantoned w'th thy breakers': they to me' 
Were a deliguV; and if the freshening sea' 
Made them a terrour', 'twas a pleasing fear'. 
For I was', as it were', a a child of thee', 
And trusted to thy billows far and near', 
And laid my hand upon thy mane' — -as I do here'. 

My task is done' — my song hath ceased' — my theme' 
Has died into an echo': it is fit' 
The spell should break of this protracted dream'. 
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit' 
My midnight lamp' — and' . . what is writ', b is v)riV h . . 
Would it were a worthier'! but I am not now' 
That which I have been' — and my visions flit' 
Less palpally before me'— and the glow' 
Which' . . in my spirit dwelt', is fluttering', . . . faint', .... and low' 

a WSr Written. 



CHAPTER III, 



PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 

SECTION I. 
Colloquial Powers of Dr. Franklin, — Wirt. 

Never have I known such a fireside companion'. Great as 
he was', both as a statesman 1 and a philosopher', he never shone 
in a light more winning; than when he was seen in a domestick 
circle 1 . It was once my good fortune to pass two or three 
weeks with him', at the house of a private gentleman' , b in the 
back part of Pennsylvania'; and we were confined to the house 
during the whole of that time', by the unintermitting constancy 
and depth of the snows 1 . But confinement could never be felt 
where Franklin was an inmate 1 . His cheerfulness and his 
colloquial powers spread around him a perpetual spring'. When 
I speak', however', of his colloquial powers', I do not mean to 
awaken any notion analogous to that which Boswell has given 
us when he so frequently mentions the colloquial powers of Dr. 
Johnson'. The conversation of the latter continually reminds 
one of " the pomp and circumstance of glorious war'." It was', 
indeed', a perpetual contest for victory', or an arbitrary and 
despotick exaction of homage to his superiour talents'. It was 
strong', acute', prompt', splendid', and vociferous ; as loud', 
stormy , and sublime' as those winds which he represents as 
shaking the Hebrides', and rocking the old castles that frowned 
upon the dark-rolling sea beneath'. But one gets tired of storms', 
however sublime they may be', and longs for the more orderly 
current of nature'.^-Of Franklin', no one ever became tired'. 
There was no ambition of eloquence', 11 no effort to shine', 
in any thing which came from him'. There was nothing 
which made any demand either upon your allegiance' or your 
admiration'. 

His manner was as unaffected as infancy'. It was nature's 
self. He talked like an old patriarch'; 6 and his plainness and 
simplicity put you', at once', at your ease', and gave you the 
full and free possession and use of all your faculties'. 

His thoughts were of a character to shine by their own light', 

a Stites'man — not, states'rrmn. b J£n'trman. c H6m'aje d El'6'kw£n9e 
— not, el'o'kwunse. e Pa'tr£'ark. 



208 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

without any adventitious aid'. They required only a medium 
of vision like his pure and simple style', to exhibit', a to the 
highest advantage', their native radiance 1 ' and beauty'. His 
cheerfulness was unremitting'. It seemed to be as much the 
effect of a systematic!* and salutary exercise of the mind', as of 
its superiour organization'. His wit was of the first Order 1 . It 
did not show itself merely in occasional coruscations'; but' 
without any effort or force on his part', it shed a constant 
stream of the purest light over the whole of his discourse'. 
Whether in the company of commons or nobles', he was 
always the same', plain man'; always most perfectly at his 
easC', with his faculties in full play', and the full orbit of his 
genius forever clear and unclouded'. And then', the stores of 
his mind were inexhaustible'. He had commenced life with an 
attention so vigilant', that nothing had escaped his observation', 
and a judgment so solid', that every incident was turned to 
advantage'. His youth had not been wasted in idleness', nor 
overcast by intemperance'. He had been all his life a close and 
deep reader', as well as thinker'; and', by the force of his 
own powers', had wrought up the raw materials which he had 
gathered from books', with such exquisite skill and felicity', that 
he had added a hundred fold to their original value', and justly 
made them his own'. 



SECTION II. 

Intellectual Qualities of Milton. — Channing. 

In speaking of the intellectual qualities of Milton, we may 
begin by observing that the very splendour of his poetick fame, 
has tended to obscure or conceal the extent of his mind, and the 
variety of its energies and attainments. To many, he seems 
only a poet, when, in truth, he was a profound scholar, a man 
of vast compass of thought, imbued thoroughly with all ancient-i 
and modern learning, and able to master, to mould, to impreg- 
nate with his own intellectual power, his great and various 
acquisitions. He had not learned the superficial doctrine of a 
later day, that poetry flourishes most in an uncultivated soil, 
and that imagination shapes its brightest visions from the mists 
of a superstitious age ; and he had no dread of accumulating 
knowledge lest he should oppress and smother his genius. He 

a Eg , z-h!b'lt— noc, eg-zib'it. KRa'de'ansc. c K6n'stant — not, kon'stunt 
"•ane'tsh£nt. 



Chap. III. INTELLECTUAL QUALITIES OF MILTON. 200 

was conscious of that within him, which could quicken all 
knowledge, and wield it with ease and might; which could give 
freshness to old truths, and harmony to discordant thoughts ; 
which could bind together, by living ties and mysterious affini- 
ties, the most remote discoveries ; and rear fabricks of glory 
and beauty from the rude materials which other minds had 
collected. 

Milton had that universality which marks the highest order 
of intellect. Though accustomed, almost from infancy, to drink 
at the fountains of classical literature, he had nothing of the 
pedantry and fastidiousness which disdain all other draughts. 
His healthy mind delighted in genius, in whatever soil, or in 
whatever age it might have burst forth, and poured out its ful- 
ness. He understood too well the right, and dignity, and pride 
of creative imagination, to lay on it the laws of the Greek or 
Roman school. Parnassus was not to him the only holy ground 
of genius. He felt that poetry was a universal presence/ Great 
minds were everywhere his kindred. He felt the enchantment 
of oriental fiction, surrendered himself to the strange creations 
of " Araby the blest," and delighted still more in the romantick 
spirit of chivalry, 1 and in the tales of wonder in which it was 
imbodied. Accordingly, his poetry reminds us of the ocean, 
which adds to its own boundlessness, contributions from all 
regions under heaven. 

Nor was it only in the department of imagination, that his 
acquisitions were vast. He travelled over the whole field of 
knowledge, as far as it had then been explored. His various 
philological attainments were used to put him in possession of 
the wisdom stored in all countries where the intellect had been 
cultivated. The natural philosophy, metaphysicks, ethicks, 
history, theology, and political science of his own and former 
times, were familiar to him. Never was there a more unconfined 
mind ; and we would cite Milton as a practical example of the 
benefits of that universal culture" 3 of intellect, which forms one 
distinction of our times, but which some dread as unfriendly to 
original thought*. Let such remember, that mind is, in its own 
nature, diffusive. Its object is the universe, which is strictly 
one, or bound together by infinite connexions and correspond- 
encies , and, accordingly, its natural progress is from one field of 
thought to another, and wherever original power or creative 
genius exists, the mind, far from being distracted or oppressed 
by the variety of its acquisitions, will see more and more bear 

a Prez'4nse — not, prez'wnse. b Tshlvarre. c FiI-d-16j'-e-kal. d K41 
tsh&re — not, kul'tshur. 

18 * 



210 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

ings, and hidden and beautiful analogies in all the objects of 
knowledge, will see mutual light shed from truth to truth, and 
will compel, as with a kingly power, whatever it understands to 
yield some tribute of proof, or illustration, or splendour, to 
whatever topick it would unfold. 



SECTION II. 
Hamlet's Advice to the Players. — Shakspeare. 

(The words in Italicks and capitals, are emphatick.) 

Speak the speech', I pray you', as I pronounced it to you', 
trippingly on the tongue 1 . But', if you mouth it', as many of 
our players do', I had as lief the town-crier had spoken my 
lines'. And do not saio the air too much with your hands'; 
but use all gently': for', in the very torrent"* tempest', and', 
as I may say', WHIRLWIND of your passion', you must beget 
a temperance that will give it smoothness'. Oh'! it offends me 
to the soul', to hear a robustious', b periwig-pated fellow' . . tear 
a passion to tatters', to very rags', to split the ears of the 
GROUNDLINGS';*- who' (for the most part') are capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise'. Pray you 
avoid it'. 

Be not too tame', either'; but let your own discretion be your 
tutor'. Suit the action to the word', the word to the action' — 
with this special observance', that you overstep not the modesty 
of nature'; for any thing so overdone' , is from the purpose of 
playing'; whose end is, to hold', as it were', the mirror up to 
nature": to show virtue her own feature", scorn her own image', 
and the very age and body of the times' , their form and pres- 
sure". Now', this overdone , or come tardy off' , though it may 
make the unskilful' . . laugh' , cannot but make the judicious . . 
grieve" ; the censure of one of which', must', in your allow- 
ance', over weigh a whole theatre of others'. Oh! there are 
players that I have seen play', and heard others praise", and 
that', highly" — not to speak it profanely — who', having neither 
the accent of Christian', nor the gait of Christian', pagan', nor 
man', have so strutted and bellowed', that I have thought some 
of nature's journeymen had made men', and not made them 
well", they imitated humanity so abominably'. 

a T6r'r£nt. b R6-bust y&s. c Ob-zerv'lnse. *Spectators in the Pit. 



Chap. III. THE SACRED SCRIPTURES. 211 



SECTION IV. 

Moral and Intellectual Efficacy of the Sacred Scriptures, 
Wayland. 

As to the powerful', I had almost said', miraculous' , effect 
of the Sacred Scriptures', there can no longer be a doubt in the 
mind of any one on whom fact can make an impression 1 . That 
the truths of the Bible have the power of awakening an intense 
moral feeling in man under every variety of character' , learned', 
or ignorant', civilized', or savage'; that they make bad men 
good", and send a pulse of healthful feeling through all the do 
mestick', civil', and social relations'; that they teach men to 
love right", to hate wrong', and to seek each other's welfare ', 
as the children of one common parent'; that they control the 
baleful passions of the human heart, . . and thus make men 
proficients in the science of self-government' ; a and', finally', 
that they teach him to aspire after a conformity to a Being of 
infinite holiness', and fill him with hopes infinitely more puri- 
fying', more exalting', more suited to his' nature', 6 than any 
other which this world has ever known', — are facts as incon- 
trovertible as the laws of philosophy' , or the demonstrations 
of mathematicks". Evidence in support of all this', can be 
brought from every age in the history of man', since there has 
been a revelation from God on earth'. We see the proof of it 
everywhere around us'. There is scarcely a neighbourhood 
in our country', where the Bible is circulated' , in which we 
cannot point to a very considerable portion of its population', 
which its" truths have reclaimed from the practice of vice' , and 
taught the practice of whatsoever things are pure', and honest' , 
and just' , and of good report'. 

That this distinctive and peculiar effect is produced upon 
every man to whom the gospel is announced', we pretend not to 
affirm'. But we do affirm', that', besides producing this special 
renovation to which we have alluded', upon a part' , in a most 
remarkable degree', it elevates the tone of moral feeling through- 
out the whole community'. Wherever the Bible is freely cir- 
culated', and its doctrines carried home to the understandings 
of men', the aspect of society is altered" ; the frequency of 
crime is diminished" ; men begin to love justice' , and to admin- 
ister it by law" ; and a virtuous', publick opinion', that strongest 
safeguard of right', spreads over a nation the shield of its in- 

"Guv'urnWnt. l Ni'tshare. 



212 SELECTIONS 1ST PROSE. 

visible protection'. Wherever it has faithfully been brought to 
bear upon the human heart', even under the most unpromising 
circumstances', it has', within a single generation", revolution 
ized the whole structure of society'; and thus', within a few 
years', done more for man than all other means have accom- 
plished for ages' , without it'. For proof of all this', I need 
only refer you to the effects of the Gospel in Greenland", or in 
South Africa", in the Society Islands', or even among the 
aborigines of our own country". 

But', before we leave this part of the subject', it may be well 
to pause for a moment', 3 and inquire whether', in addition to 
its moral efficacy', the Bible may not exert a powerful influence 
upon the intellectual character of man'. 

And here it is scarcely necessary that I should remark', that', 
of all the books with which', since the invention of writing', 
this world has been deluged', the number of those is very small 
which have produced any perceptible effect on the mass of man- 
kind'. vBy far the greater part have been', even by their cotem 
poraries", unnoticed and unknown'. Now and then one has 
made its little mark upon the generation that produced it', and 
then', with that generation', has sunk to utter forgetful ness'. 
But', after the ceaseless toil of six thousand years', how few 
haye been the works', the adamantine basis of whose reputation 
has sto#d unhurt amid the fluctuations of time', and whose im- 
pression can be traced', in the history of our species', through 
successive centuries'. 

When', however', such a work appears', its effects are abso- 
lutely incalculable" ; and such a work', you are aware', is the 
Iliad of Homer'. Who can estimate the results produced by 
the incomparable 1 ' efforts of a single mind"? Who can tell what 
Greece owes to this first-born of song'? Her breathing mar- 
Dies', her solemn temples', her unrivalled eloquence', and her 
matchless verse', all point us to that transcendent genius', who', 
by the. very splendour of his own effulgence , awoke the human 
intellect from the slumber of ages'. It was Homer who gave 
laws to the artist"; it was Homer who inspired the poet'; it was 
Homer who thundered in the senate"; and', more than all', it 
was Homer who was sung by the people"; and hence', a nation 
was cast into the mould of one mighty mind" ; and the land of 
the Iliad became the region of taste", the birth-place of the 
arts". 

Nor was this influence confined within the limits of Greece\ 
Long after the sceptre of empire had passed westward' , Genius 

a M6'm£nt — not, mo'mwnt. b In-kom'pS. , r^-bl 



Chap. II. . THE SACRED SCRIPTURES. 213 

still held her court on the banks of the llissus', and', from the 
country of Home?*', gave laws to the world'. The light which 
the blind old man of Scio had kindled in Greece' , shed its ra- 
diance 1 over Italy'; and thus did he awaken a second nation 
into intellectual existence'. And we may form some idea of 
the power which this one work', to the present day', has 
exerted over the mind of man', by remarking', that "nation 
after nation', and century b after century', * have been able to do 
little more than transpose his incidents', new-name his charac- 
ters', and paraphrase his sentiments'." 

But', considered simply as an intellectual production', who 
will compare the poems of Homer with the Holy Scriptures 
of the Old and New Testament 1 ? Where', in the Iliad' ', shall 
we find simplicity and pathos which shall vie with the narra- 
tive of Moses', or maxims of conduct to equal in wisdom the 
Proverb^ of Solomon', or sublimity which does d not fade away 
before the conceptions of Job' , or David', of Isaiah' , or St. 
John'? But I cannot pursue this comparison 1 . I feel that it 
is doing wrong to the mind which dictated the Iliad', and to 
those other mighty intellects on whom the light of the holy 
oracles never shined 1 . Who that has read Homer's great 
poem', has not observed how he strove in vain to give dignity 
to the mythology of his time'] Who has not seen how the 
religion of his country', unable to support the flight of his 
imagination', sunk powerless beneath him'? It is in the unseen 
world where the master spirits of our race breathe freely', and 
are at home'; and it is mournful to behold the intellect of Ho- 
mer', striving to free itself from the conceptions of materialism' , 
and then sinking down in hopeless despair', to weave idle tales 
about Jupiter and Juno', Apollo and Diana". But the difficul- 
ties under which he laboured', are abundantly illustrated by the 
fact', that the light which he poured upon the human intellect', 
taught other ages how unworthy was the religion of his day', 
and of the man who was compelled to use it'. " It seems to 
me'," says Longinus', 6 " that Homer', when he ascribes dissen- 
sions', jealousies', tears 1 , imprisonments', and other afflictions 
to his deities', as much as was in his power', makes the men 
of the Iliad' . . gods', and the gods' . . men'. To man', when 
afflicted', death is the termination of evils' ; but he makes not 
only the nature , but the miseries' , of the gods' , eternal'." 

If, then', so great results have flowed from this one effort 
of a single mind', what may we not expect from the combined 
efforts of several' , at least', his equals in power over the human 

a Ri'd51inse. fc S§n'tsh&'r£. c P6'emz — not, pomze. d Duz Ldn-jl'nfts. 



214 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

heart'? If that one genius', though groping in the thick dark 
ness of absurd idolatry', wrought so glorious a transformation 
in the character of his countrymen', ichat may we not look for 
from the universal dissemination of those writings on whose 
authors was poured the full splendour of eternal truth'? If 
unassisted human nature', spell-bound by a childish mythology', 
has done so much', what may we not hope for from the super- 
natural efforts of pre-eminent geniuses', who "spake as they 
were moved by the Holy Ghost'?" 



SECTION V. 
St. John, Chapter IX. 

And, as Jesus passed by', he saw a man that^had been 
blind from his birth'. And his disciples asked him', saying', 
Master', who did sin', this man' , or his parents'* that he was 
born blind"? Jesus answered', Neither hath this man sinned', 
nor his parents': 1 but', that the works of God should be made 
manifest in him'. 1 ' I must work the works of him c that sent 
me', while it is day': the night cometh when no man can work'. 
As long as I am in the world', I am the light of the world'. 

When, he had thus spoken', he spit on the ground', and 
made clay of the spittle', and anointed the eyes of the blind 
man with the clay', and said xinto him', Go', wash in the pool 
of Siloam', (which is', by interpretation', Sent'.) He went his 
way', therefore', 11 and washed', and came' . . seeing'. 

The neighbours , therefore', d and they that before had seen 
him', and knew that he was blind', said', Is not this he that sat 
and begged'? Some said', This is he: others said', He is like 
him': but he said', I am he'. Therefore 13 said they unto him', 
How were thine eyes opened'? He answered and said', A man 
that is called Jesus' , made clay' , and anointed mine eyes', and 
said unto me', Go to the pool of Siloam , and wash'. And I 
went and washed', and I received my sight'. Then said they 
unto him', Where is he'? He said', I know not'. 

They brought to the Pharisees him that aforetime was blind'. 
And it was the Sabbath day when Jesus made the clay', and 
opened his eyes'. Then', again', 6 the Pharisees also asked 
him how he had received his sight'. He said unto them', He 
put clay upon mine eyes', and I washed', and do see'. There- 

a Pa'r£nts— not, parents. b "in him"— not, in im. c " of him"— not, au> 
vim d Tn£r'fore. e A-g£n'. 



Chap. Ill st. john, chap. ix. 215 

fore a said some of the Pharisees', This man is not of God', 
because he keepeth not the Sabbath day". Others said', How 
can a man that is a sinner, do such miracles'? And there was 
a division among them'. 

They say unto the blind man again" * What sayest thou of 
him', that he hath opened thine eyes 1 ] He said', He is a 
prophet'. But the Jews did not believe concerning him', that 
he had been blind', and received his. sight', until they called 
the parents of him that had received his sight 1 . And they 
asked them", saying', Is this your son who', ye say', was born 
blind? How then doth he now see'? His parents answered 
them and said', We know that this is our son', and that he was 
born blind': but by what means he now seeth ' , we know not; 
or who hath opened his eyes' , we know not'. He is of age': 
ask him'. He shall speak for himself. 

These words spake his parents', because they feared the 
Jews 1 : for the Jews had agreed already', that if any man did 
confess that he was Christ' , he should be put out of the syna- 
gogue'. Therefore'" said his parents', He is of age": ask him'. 

Then again' called they the man that had been blind', and 
said unto him', Give Go.d the praise': we know that this man 
is a sinner". He answered and said', Whether he is a sinner 
or not', I do not know': one thing I know', that', whereas', 1 
was blind' , now I see. 

Then said they to him again", h What did he to thee ? — how 
opened he thine eyes'? He answered them', I have told you 
already", and ye did not hear': Wherefore would ye hear it 
again" ? b will ye also be his disciples'? 

Then they reviled him'; 1 and said', Thou art his disciple', 
but we are Moses' disciples'. We know that God spake unfo 
Moses"; as for this fellow', we know not whence he is'. The 
man answered and said unto them', Why', herein is a marvel- 
lous thing', that ye know not whence he is', and yet', he hath 
opened mine eyes". Now we know that God heareth not sin- 
ners': but if any man be a worshipper of God', and doeth his 
will, him he heareth". Since the world began has it not been 
heard that a man opened the eyes of one that was born blind". 
If this man were not of God', he could do nothing". They 
answered and said unto him', Thou wast altogether born in 
rins", and dost thou teach us'? And they cast him out'. 

Jesus heard" that they had cast him out': and when he had 
found him'} he said unto him', Dost f thou believe on the Son 

a THer'fore. b A-ff£n'. c Duth. d "Revil'd him" — not, revile dim. e H£rd 
Dast. 



216 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

of God'? He answered and said', Who is he', Lord, that 1 
may believe on him"? And Jesus said unto him', Thou hast 
both seen him', and it is he that talketh with thee 1 . And he 
said', Lord', I believe". — And he worshipped him*. 

And Jesus said', For judgment I am eome into this world'; 
that they who see not' , may see', and that they who see', may 
be made blind'. And some of the Pharisees that were with 
him', heard b these words', and said unto him', Are we blind 
also"? Jesus said unto them', If ye were blind', ye would have 
no sin'; but now ye say', We see': therefore your sin remaineih\ 



SECTION VI. 

Industry necessary to the Attainment of Eloquence.— W are. 

The history of the world is full of testimony to prove how 
much depends upon industry. Not an eminent orator has lived 
but is an example of it. Yet, in contradiction to all this, the 
almost universal feeling appears to be, that industry can effect 
nothing, that eminence is the result of accident, and that every 
one must be content to remain just what he may happen to be. 
Thus, multitudes, who come forward as teachers and guides, 
sutler themselves to be satisfied with the most indifferent .at- 
tainments/ and a miserable mediocrity, without, so much as 
inquiring how they may rise higher, much less, making any 
attempt to rise. For any other art they would have served an 
apprenticeship, and would be ashamed to practise it in publick 
before they had learned it. If any one would sing, he attends 
a master, and is drilled in the very elementary principles ; and 
it is only after the most laborious process that he dares to exer- 
cise his voice in publick. This he does, 6 though he has scarcely 
any thing to learn but the mechanical execution of what lies in 
sensible forms before the eye. But the extempore f speaker, 
who is to invent, as well as to utter, to carry on an operation 
of the mind, as well as to produce sound, enters upon the work 
without preparatory discipline, and then wonders that he fails ! 
If he were learning to play on the flute for publick exhibition, 
how many hours and days would he spend in giving facility to 
his fingers, and in attaining the power of the sweetest and 
:nost expressive execution ! If he were devoting himself to the 
organ, how many months and years would he labour, that he 

a Jadje'm£nt — not., judg-e'mtmt. b HSrd. c In-dif'fur-£nt. d At-t&ne'- 
n.£nts. *Duz. f Eks-t£m'p"6-r£. 



Chap. III. ATTAINMENT OF ELOQUENCE. 217 

might know its compass, and become master of 'ts keys, and 
be able to draw out, at will, all its various combinations of har- 
monious sound, and its full richness and delicacy of expression ! 
And yet, he will fancy that the grandest, the most various, and 
the most expressive of all instruments — an instrument which 
the infinite Creator has fashioned by the union of an intellectual 
soul with the powers of speech, may be played upon without 
study or practice. He comes to it a mere, uninstructed tyro 
and thinks, at once, to manage all its stops, and command the 
whole compass of its varied and comprehensive power ! He 
finds himself a bungler in the attempt; is mortified at his 
failure, and settles it in his mind forever, that the attempt is 
unavailing. 

Success in every art, whatever may be the natural talent, is 
always the reward of industry and pains. But the instances 
arc many, of men, of the finest natural genius, whose be- 
ginnings have promised much, but who have wretchedly degen- 
erated as they advanced, because they trusted to their gifts, and 
made no efforts to improve upon them. That there have never 
been other men of equal endowments* with Demosthenes and 
Cicero, none would venture to suppose ; but who have so de- 
voted themselves to their art, or who have become their equals 
in excellence ? b If those great men had been like others, con- 
tent to continue as they began, and had never made their per- 
severing efforts for improvement, what would their countries 
have been benefited by their genius, or the world have known 
of their fame ? They would have been lost in the undistin- 
guished crowd that sunk to oblivion around them. Of how 
many more will the same remark prove true; and what en- 
couragement^ is thus given to the industrious ! With such 
encouragement, d then, how inexcusable is that negligence which 
suffers the most interesting 6 and important truths to seem heavy 
and dull, and fall ineffectual to the ground, through mere slug- 
gishness in their delivery ! How unworthy of one who per- 
forms the high functions of a religious inslructer, upon whom 
depend, in a great measure, the religious knowledge, and de- 
votional sentiments/ and final character, of many fellow-beings, 
to imagine, that he can worthily discharge this great concern, 
by occasionally talking for an hour, he knows not how, and in 
a manner which he has taken iio pains to render correct, im- 
pressive, and attractive ; and which, merely through want of 
that command over himself which study would give, is im- 

*En-ddu'mlnts — not, munts. ' Ek's£ri£nse — not, lwnse. c Tm-pr6ve 
m£nt. d En-kfcr'rlpm§nt. e In'tlr-6st-lng. r Sen't£'m£nts. 
19 



218 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

methodical, verbose, inaccurate, feeble, trifling ! It has been 
said of the good preacher, that " truths divine come mended 
from his tongue." Alas ! they come ruined and worthless from 
such a man as the one here described. They lose that holy 
energy, by which they are to convert the soul and purify man 
for heaven, and sink, in interest and efficacy, below the level of 
those principles which govern the ordinary affairs of this lower 
world. 



SECTION VII. 
On Eloquence. — Wirt. 

Tell me', then', you who are capable of doing it', what is 
this divine eloquence 1 ? What the charm by which the orator 
binds the senses of his audience 1 ; — by which he attunes 1 , and 
touches', and sweeps the human lyre', with the resistless sway' 
and master hand of a Timotheus 1 ? Is not the whole mystery 
comprehended in one word' . . SYMPATHY'? I mean', not 
merely that tender passion which quavers the lip', and fills the 
eye', of the babe when it looks on the sorrows and tears of 
another', but that still more delicate and subtile quality by which 
we passively catch the very colours 1 , momentum', and strength 
of the mind to whose operations we are attending 1 ; which con- 
verts every speaker to whom we listen', into a Procrustes", and 
enables him', for the moment', to stretch or lop our faculties to 
fit the standard of his own mind'. 

If there is not something of this secret intercourse from spirit 
to spirit', how does it happen that one speaker shall gradually 
■nvade and benumb all the faculties of my soul', as if I were 
handling a torpedo'; while another shall awaken and arouse 
me', like the clangour of the martial trumpet 1 ? How does it 
happen', that the first shall infuse his poor spirit into my system 1 , 
lethargize my native intellect', and bring down my powers 
exactly to the level of his own 1 ? or that the last shall descend 
upon me like an angel of light 1 , breathe new energies into my 
frame 1 , dilate my soul with his own intelligence 1 , exalt me 
mto a new and nobler region of thought 1 , snatch me from 
the earth at pleasure', and wrap me to the seventh heaven 1 ? 
And', what is still more wonderful', how does it happen that 
these different effects endure so long after the agency of the 
speaker has ceased'? insomuch 1 , that if, after listening to the 
first speaker' T s j t ( \ own to any intellectual exercise', my per- 
formance shall be unworthy even of me 1 , and the numb-fish 



ChaO III. ON ELOQUENCE. 210 

visible and tangible in every sentence': whereas', if, after having 
attended to the last mentioned orator', I enter on the same 
amusement', I shall be astonished at the elevation and vigour of 
my own thoughts'; and', if I accidentally meet with the same 
production a month or two afterward', when my mind has ost 
the inspiration', I shall scarcely be able to recognise it for my 
own work 1 ? 

Whence is all this'? To me it would seem', that it must pro 
ceed', either from the subtile commerce between the spirits of 
men', which lord Verulam notices', and which enables the speaker 
thereby to identify his hearer with himself, or else', that the 
mind of man possesses', independent of any volition on the part 
of its proprietor', a species of pupillary faculty of dilating and 
contracting itself, in proportion to the pencil of the rays of 
light which the speaker throws upon it'; which dilation or con- 
traction', as in the case of the eye', cannot be immediately and 
abruptly altered'. 

Whatever may be the solution', the fact', I think', is certainly 
as I have stated it': and it is remarkable that the same effect is 
produced', though perhaps in a less degree', by perusing books 
into which different degrees of spirit and genius have been 
infused'. I am acquainted with a gentleman who never sits 
down to a composition in which he wishes to shine', without 
previously reading', with intense application', half a dozen pages 
of his favourite Bolingbroke'. Having taken the character and 
impulse of that writer's mind', he declares that he feels his pen 
flow with a spirit not his own'; and that', if, in the course 
of his work', his powers begin to languish', he finds it easy 
to revive and charge them afresh from the same never-failing 
source'. 

If these things are not visionary', it becomes important to a 
man', for a new reason', what books he reads', and what com- 
pany he keeps', since', according to lord Verulam's notion', an 
influx of the spirits of others', may change the native character 
of his heart and understanding', before he is aware of it'; or', 
according to the other suggestion', he may so habitually contract 
the pupil of his mind', as to be disqualified for the comprehen- 
sion of a great subject', and fit only for microscopick observa- 
tions'. Whereas',- by keeping the company', and reading the 
works', of men of magnanimity and genius only', he may 
-eceive their qualities by subtile transmission', and eventually 
get the eye', the ardour', and the enterprise of an eagle'. 

But whither am I wandering'? Permit me to return'. — Ad 
mitting the correctness of the principles first mentioned', i 



220 SELECTIONS ftf PROSE. 

would seem to be a fair conclusion', that whenever an orator 
wishes to know what effect he has produced on his audience', 
he should coolly and conscientiously propound to himself this 
question': Have I myself, throughout my oration', felt those 
cttar and cogent convictions of judgment', and that pure and 
exal'ed fire of the soul', wi*h which I wished to inspire others'? 
For', he may rely upon it', that he can no more impart or (to 
use lord Bacon's word,) transmit convictions and sensations 
which he himself has not', at the time', sincerely felt', than he 
can convey a clear title to property in which he himself has no 
right 1 . 

This leads me to point out a fault which I have often noticed'. 
Following up too closely the cold conceit of the Roman division 
of an oration', some speakers set aside a particular part of their 
discourse', (usually the peroration',) in which they take it into 
their heads that "they will be pathetick'. Accordingly', when 
they reach this part', whether it be prompted by the feelings or 
not', a mighty bustle commences'. The speaker pricks up his 
ears', erects his chest', tosses h : s arms with hysterical vehe- 
mence', and says everything which he supposes ought to affect 
his hearers', but it is all in vain': for it is obvious that every 
thing he says is prompted by the head"; and', however it may 
display his ingenuity and fertility', however if may appeal to the 
admiration of his hearers', it will never strike deeper'. The 
hearts of the audience will refuse all commerce except with the 
heart of the speaker'; nor', in this commerce', is it possible', by 
any disguise however artful', to impose false ware upon them'. 
However the speaker may labour to seem to feel', however near 
he may approach to the appearance of the reality', the heart', 
nevertheless', possesses a keen', unerring sense which never 
fails to detect the imposture'. It would seem as if the heart of 
man stamps a secret mark on all its" effusions', which alone can 
give them currency', and which no ingenuity', however adroit', 
can successfully counterfeit'. 

I have been not a little diverted in listening to some of these 
fine orators who deal almost entirely in this pathos of the head 1 . 
They practise the start', the pause' — make an immense parade 
of attitudes and gestures', and seem to imagine themselves 
piercing the heart with a thousand wounds'. The heart', all the 
time', developing every trick that is played off to cajole her', 
and sitting serene and composed', looks on and smiles at 'be 
ridiculous pageanf 1 as it passes'. 

"Paj'&nt. 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER. 221 

Nothing', in my opinion , can be more ill-judged in an orator', 
than to indulge himself in this idle', artificial parade'. It is 
particularly unfortunate in an exordium 1 . It is as much as to 
say', caveat auditor'; {let the auditor take care';) and', for 
my own part', the moment* I see an orator rise with this mena- 
cing majesty', assume a look of solemn wisdom', stretch forth 
his right arm', like the rubens dexter (red right hand) of Jove', 
and hear him open his throat in deep and tragick tone', I feel 
myself involuntarily braced 1 , and in an attitude of defence', as 
if I were going to take a bout with Mendoza'. 



SECTION VIII. 
Caspar Hauser. 

The following sketch of this extraordinary and ill-fated youth, is extracted from 
an account given of him by Anselm Yon Feuerbach, President of one of the 
Bavarian courts of appeal — translated by H. G. Linberg, and published at 
Boston, by Allen & Tjcknor, 1832. 

On the 26th of May, 1828, towards the close of the day, a 
citizen of Nuremberg, (in Franconia,) who lived near the small 
and unfrequented Haller gate, and who was, at the time, loiter- 
ing before his door, observed at a short distance, a young man 
in a peasant's dress. He was standing in a very singular posture, 
and, apparently 1 ' like one intoxicated, was endeavouring to walk, 
but without the ability to keep himself erect, or to govern the 
movement of his legs. The citizen approached the stranger, 
who held out to him a letter, directed " To the captain of the 
4th Esgataren of the Shwoliskay regiment, Nuremberg." 

The captain referred to, lived near the New gate ; and, though 
not without much difficulty, thither the citizen conducted the 
strange youth. On entering the captain's mansion, the stranger 
advanced towards the servant that had opened the door, with 
his hat on his head, and the letter in his hand, addressing him 
in a jargon of indistinct and almost altogether inarticulate sounds, 
the meaning of which no one could comprehend. The servant 
asked him what he wanted ; who he was ; and whence he 
came ; but the stranger appeared to understand none of these 
interrogatories, his only reply being, " Ae sechtene mocht ich 
waehn," &c. : the same unintelligible jargon he had previously 
uttered when accosted by the citizen who accompanied him. 
The young man was so much fatigued as scarcely to be able to 
walk or stand. Weeping, and with an expression of excessive 

*M6'm£nt. b Ap-p&'r£nt.l£. °T6'£irdz. 
19* 



222 SELECTIONS I N PROSE. 

pain, he pointed to his feet, which were sinking under him. lie 
appeared, also, to be suffering from hunger and thirst. A small 
piece of meat was, therefore"', offered him ; but the first morsel 
had scarce touched his lips, before he shuddered, the muscles of 
his face being, at the same time, seized with spasms ; and, with 
visible horrour, he spit it out. On tasting a few drops of beer 
that was presented to him, he likewise showed the same marks 
of aversion. But a bit of bread, and a glass of water, he 
swallowed greedily, and with great satisfaction. In the mean 
time, all attempts to gain any information respecting his person, 
his arrival, or his residence, were altogether fruitless. His lan- 
guage consisted of tears, moans, and unintelligible sounds, or 
of an awkward attempt at the words already mentioned. 

In the captain's house, he was taken for a kind of demi- 
savage. The captain knew nothing of the stranger ; nor could 
he learn anything concerning him from the letter which he had 
brought, any more than by questioning him. For a develop- 
ment 1 of the mystery which hung over the character and pur- 
poses of this singular being, as well as for the care of his 
person, he was, therefore, consigned over to the city police. 
His journey to the police-office, in his pitiable situation, (for, it 
afterward proved, that this was about his first attempt at 
walking, and the first time he had worn shoes or boots ; and, 
moreover, that the boots he then had on, had excoriated and 
sorely blistered his feet,) was almost a course of martyrdom, and 
not accomplished but with the greatest difficulty. 

At the guard-room, he was equally looked upon as a most 
extraordinary phenomenon. The attempt to examine him by 
questions, proved altogether unavailing. A repetition of the 
sounds, " Ae reuta waehn," &c. (to which sounds he himself, as 
was afterward ascertained, attached not the shadow of a mean* 
ing,) were the only sounds or words which, on the most diverse 
occasions, he uttered. He appeared neither to know, nor to 
consider, where he was. He betrayed neither astonishment, 11 
fear, nor confusion ; but rather showed that kind of insensibility, 
or brutish dulness, which either leaves external objects entirely 
unnoticed, or gazes at them without thought, and suffers them to 
pass without being affected by them. His tears and whimpering, 
while he was frequently pointing to his tortured and tottering 
feet, together with his awkward and child-like demeanour, soon 
excited the compassion of all who were present. A soldier 
offered him a piece of meat and a glass of beer ; but these, m 

a Tii£r'f6re. b DS-v£rup-ment— not, munt. 'P6-l££s'. d As-t6n'lsh- 
m£nl — not, munt. 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER. 223 

the same manner as at the captain's house, he rejected with 
shuddering and abhorrence. Another gave him a piece of coin. 
At this he expressed the joy of a little child; and, in short, his 
whole conduct and demeanour seemed to be that of a child 
scarcely two years old, although he possessed' the stature of a 
young man. 

The police, not knowing whether to consider him an idiot, a 
madman, or a savage, or whether, under the guise of a stupid 
boy, some cunning deceiver might not be concealed, sent him 
to the tower of the Vestner gate, a place used for the confine- 
ment of rogues and vagabonds. 

The name, Caspar Hauser, he wore upon his hat, when 
first discovered in Nuremberg. His dress was very shabby, 
though evidently not that of a peasant, nor one made for him- 
self. His pockets were stuffed with religious manuscripts and 
books. The letter which he carried in his hand, was written 
a part in German characters, and a part in Latin ; but, instead 
of giving any satisfactory information concerning him, it seemed 
purposely penned with a view to render still more difficult the 
solution of the dark enigma which Caspar presented in his own 
person. It purported to be written by a female ; stated that 
Caspar was 17 years old ; and that he wished to become a 
soldier. 

On his first appearance in Nuremberg, Caspar was only four 
feet and nine inches in height; but his stature soon rapidly 
increased. His complexion was fair; his limbs were b delicately 
formed ; his hands small and beautifully shaped ; and the soles 
of his feet, as well as the palms of his hands, were as soft as 
those of an infant; but his countenance lacked animation and 
expression; and the staring look of his clear and bright blue 
eyes, betrayed an infantile inanity. If any thing pleasant, 
however, affected his mind, a smiling, heart- winning sweetness 
diffused itself over his features, and lighted up his countenance 
with that irresistible charm which alone is revealed by the joy 
of an innocent child. He knew but little better how to use his 
hands and fingers, than he did his legs and feet. In talcing 
hold of any thing, he employed the tips of his first finger and 
thumb, with the others stretched out stiff and straight, in ihe 
uncouth and awkw T ard manner of a little child that has not yet 
learned to handle things. His gait, like that of an infant making 
its first essays in leading-strings, was, properly speaking, not a 
walk, but rather a waddling, tottering, groping of his way — a 
painful medium between the motion of falling, and of endeavour- 

a P6z-z£st'. Wer 



224 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

ing to keep himself upright. In attempting to walk, instead ol 
first treading firmly on his heel, as persons commonly do, he 
placed his heels and the balls of his feet simultaneously* upon 
the ground ; and, instead of lifting only one foot at a time, he 
would endeavour to raise both at once. In this miserably awk- 
ward manner, he toddled and stumbled slowly and heavily 
forward, with arms stiff and stretched out, which he seemed to 
use as balance-poles. The slightest impediment caused him to 
fall flat on the floor : and for a long time after his arrival. lie 
could not go up or down stairs without assistance. 6 



SECTION XL 
Caspar Hauser — Continued, 



■ The surprise and wonder excited by Caspar Hauser's first 
appearance in Nuremberg, soon settled down into the form of a 
dark and horrid enigma, to explain which, various conjectures 
were resorted to. By no means an idiot or a madman, he was 
so mild, so obedient, and so good-natured, that no one could any 
longer regard this forlorn and forsaken stranger as a savage, or 
a child grown up among the wild beasts of the forest. And 
yet, he was so destitute of words and conceptions, so unac- 
quainted with the most common objects and operations of nature, 
and showed so great an indifference, nay, abhorrence, to all 
the ordinary customs, conveniences, and necessaries of life, and, 
moreover, evinced peculiarities so extraordinary 11 in all the char- 
acteristicks of his mental, moral, physical, and social being, as 
seemed to leave no other choice than to regard him, either as an 
inhabitant of some other planet, miraculously transferred 6 to 
the earth/ or as one who (like the ideal man of Plato) had been 
born and bred under ground, and who, having arrived at the age 
of maturity, had now, for the first time, emerged from his sub- 
terranean abode, and ascended to the surface of the earth to 
behold the light of the sun. 

Caspar continued to show the greatest aversion to all kinds 
of food and drink, except dry bread and water. Without swal- 
lowing, or even tasting, them, the very smell of most kinds of 
common food, was sufficient to make him shudder, or even to 
affect him still more disagreeably. The least drop of wine, 

a Sl-mul-ta'n£-iis-ly. !) As-s!s'tanse — not, twnse. c Ab-hor'r£nse — not, 
runse. ll Eks-tr6r'de-n&r-£. e Tr&ns-ferd' — not, furd. { hrlh- not, urth 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER. 225 

coffee, or the like, secretly mixed with the water which he drank, 
produced in him cold sweats, or caused him to be seized with 
vomiting or violent headache. A person once attempted to force 
upon him some brandy, under a pretence that it was water ; but 
the glass had scarcely reached his lips, when he turned pale, 
sunk down, and would have fallen backward against a glass 
door, had he not been instantly 11 supported. Even milk, whether 
boiled or fresh, he could not bear. At one time, some meat 
being concealed in his bread, he smelled it immediately, and 
expressed a great aversion to it ; but being prevailed on to eat 
it, extreme illness followed as the consequence. During the 
night, which, with him, commenced regularly with the setting, 
and ended with the rising, of the sun, he lay upon his bed of 
straw ; and in the day-time, he sat upon the floor, with his legs 
stretched out straight before him. When, for the first time, a 
lighted candle was placed before him, he was delighted with the 
shining flame, and unsuspectingly put his fingers into it ; but 
he soon drew them back, crying out and weeping. In order to 
try their effect upon him, feigned cuts and thrusts with a naked 
sabre, were made at him ; but he remained immovable, without 
even winking : nor did he seem to harbour the least suspicion 
that any harm could thus be done to him. On placing a looking. 
glass before him, he caught at his own reflected image, and then 
looked behind it in order to find the person whom he imagined 
was concealed there. Like a little child, he endeavoured to lay 
hold of every glittering object he saw; and when he could not 
reach it, or when forbidden to touch it, he wept. Of ordinary 
transactions which passed tefore his eyes, he took not the least 
lotice; but when objects were brought very near him, he gazed 
it them with a vacant look, which, in many instances, was 
expressive of curiosity and astonishment. His whole vocabu- 
lary contained only two words. Whatever partook of the human 
form, he called, without any distinction of sex or age, bva ; 
and to every animal he met with, whether quadruped or biped, 
whether dog, cat, goose, or fowl, he gave the name of ross ; a 
term which, as was afterward ascertained, in his dictionary, 
meant horse. With white horses, he appeared to be greatly 
pleased ; but black animals were regarded by him with aversion 
and fear. The sight of a black hen advancing towards him, 
once put him in so great fear, that he cried out lustily; and, 
notwithstanding his feet refused to perform their office, he made 
every effort in his power to run away from her. 

Not only Caspar's mind, but, also, several of his senses, ap* 

H In'stant-le — not, stwnt. 



22d SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

peared, at first, to be in a state of torpor, from which they 
were aroused, and opened up to the perception of externa] 
objects, only by slow degrees. It was not before the lapse of 
several days, that he began to notice the striking of the town 
clock, and the ringing of bells. These sounds excited in him 
the most profound astonishment, which was, at first, expressed 
only by listening looks, and peculiar spasmodick motions of the 
muscles of his face ; but these were soon succeeded by a stare 
of benumbed meditation. Some weeks after, a band of musick 
passed by the tower, close under his window. On hearing it, 
he suddenly stood listening, motionless as a statue. His coun- 
tenance appeared to be transfigured, and his eyes, as it were, to 
radiate his ecstasy ; his ears and eyes seemed to follow the 
movements of the sounds as they receded and died away in the 
distance;* and, when they had long ceased to be audible to 
others, as if unwilling to lose the last vibrations of these, to 
him, celestial notes, or as if his soul had followed them, and left 
its body behind it in a state of torpid insensibility. Future de- 
velopments clearly illustrated, however, that, by his extraordi- 
nary and almost superhuman acuteness of hearing, he actually 
heard, in this instance, the sounds, long after they had become 
inaudible to common ears. 

Among the remarkable phenomena which appeared in Cas- 
par's conduct, it was soon observed that the idea of horses, and, 
particularly, of wooden horses, was one which, in his estimation, 
must have acquired no small degree of importance. The word 
ross, he pronounced more frequently 4 than any other, and on 
the most diverse occasions : sometimes, indeed, with tears in his 
eyes, and in a plaintive, beseeching tone. This suggested the 
idea of presenting him with the toy of a wooden horse. Caspar, 
who had hitherto been much dejected, appeared now to be, as it 
were, suddenly transformed, and conducted himself as if he had 
found, in this little horse, an old and long-desired friend. With 
a countenance smiling, and in tears, he immediately seated 
himself on the floor, by the side of his inanimate friend, stroked 
it, patted it, kept his eyes immovably fixed upon it, and endea- 
voured to hang upon it all the variegated, glittering trifles with 
which the benevolence of his visiters had supplied him ; and it 
was only thus applied, that, in his estimation, these trinkets 
appeared to have acquired their true value. On account of his 
peculiar partiality for wooden horses, he was soon supplied with 
several, which henceforward became his constant companions 

a DIs'tanse — not, dis'twnsc. b In'stanse — not, in'stunse. c Im-por tanse 
— not, twi:se. ''Fre'kwfoit-le. e K6un'te-nanse. 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER. 22/ 

and playmates. With them he constantly employed himself, 
either in decorating them with trinkets, or in dragging them 
backwards and forwards by his side. He never ate his bread 
without first holding every morsel of it to the mouth of one of 
his horses ; nor did he ever drink water without first dipping 
cheir mouths into it ; for as yet, in his infantile soul, ideas of 
things animate and inanimate, organick and inorganick, natural 
and artificial, were strangely rningled together. 

He distinguished animals from man only by their form, and 
men from women only by their dress: and, on account of its 
varied and lively colours, the apparel of females was far more 
pleasing to him than that of males. He therefore expressed a 
desire to become a girl ; or, in other words, to wear women's 
clothes. That children should become grown people, was alto- 
gether inconceivable to him. No idea of a God, no idea of a 
spiritual existence — not a spark of religion, not the least particle 
of any dogmatick system, w r as to be found in his mind ; but, as 
yet, it was a perfect blank sheet, on which the first impressions 
were to be made. Although by no means an idiot, nor one 
that had been neglected by nature, yet, innumerable proofs 
were not wanting to show, that, with the age and physica 1 
powers and proportions of a man, he had the mind only of an 
infant 1 — that, in some mysterious and inconceivable manner, he 
must have been deprived of ail the ordinary means of giving 
development and culture 1 ' to his intellectual powers. His whole 
demeanour was a perfect mirror of child-like innocence. There 
was nothing deceitful in him. His expressions (as far as the 
poverty of his language would admit) exactly corresponded 
with the dictates of his heart. 

In a few days after his arrival at the tower, Caspar was no 
longer considered as a prisoner, but as a forsaken and neglected 
child, that needed to be cared for and educated. Accordingly, 
he was soon taught to speak and write, and to begin to lay in a 
stock of useful ideas adapted to his infantile conception ; and 
when his mind had been once directed to more important occu- 
pations, he no longer took delight in his playthings. Curiosity 
soon brought multitudes to see him. Some, indeed, regarded 
him only as an object of wonder and amusement ; d yet others 
conversed with him rationally, and endeavoured, by pronouncing 
words which they made him repeat, and by signs, and ges- 
tures, 6 and various other means, to make unknown things 
known to him, and to awaken his mind to the conception and 

a In'f&nt — not, infant. b Kul'tshare — not, cul'tshar. c In'n6.s£nse. 
l, A.-maze'm£nt — not, mwnt. e J£s'tshi'irez. 



.,28 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

communication of ideas. Every thing he saw or heard, was, ai 
first, entirely new to him, and supplied him with new materials 
of thought, and tended to increase his slender stock of ideas. 

About a fortnight 1 after the arrival of Caspar in Nuremberg, 
he was fortunately placed with professor Daumer, an accom- 
plished scholar, and an intelligent and humane man, who, in 
the kindly feelings of his heart, agreed to take upon himself the 
important task of instructing the unfortunate youth. To the 
extraordinary abilities of this benevolent gentleman, was Cas- 
par, in no small degree, indebted for that rapid development of 
his active mind, that insatiable thirst for knowledge, that fer- 
vent b zeal to lay hold of every thing that was new to him, and 
that vivid and wonderfully retentive memory, which, to the 
astonishment of all, he soon evinced. 

As soon as Caspar had acquired a sufficient knowledge of 
language to enable him, though but imperfectly, to communicate 
his ideas, means were employed to draw from him all he knew 
concerning his wonderful and mysterious fate. The following 
is the substance d of his own account of himself, as given to the 
publick in July, 1828, it being all he could recollect of the his- 
tory of his past life. 

" He knows not who he is, where he was born, nor where 
he has lived. It was only on his appearance in Nuremberg 
that he first came into the light of the world. Here he first 
learned, that, besides himself and ' the man with whom he had 
always been,' there existed other men and other creatures. As 
far back as he can recollect, he had lived in a hole, or narrow 
dungeon, where he had always sat upon the ground, with his 
feet bare, and very thinly clad. He had never, even in his 
sleep, lain down ; but had always slept in an erect posture, 
with his back supported by the wall of his narrow cell. In his 
apartment, he had never heard a sound, whether produced by 
man, an animal, or the elements. He had never seen the 
heavens, nor the light of day ; consequently, the distinction 
between night and day, was utterly unknown to him. When- 
ever he awoke from sleep, he had always found a loaf of bread 
and a pitcher of water by his side. Sometimes the water had 
a bad taste ; (that is, opium was dissolved in it, as Caspar after- 
ward ascertained by being made acquainted with this drug ;) 
and whenever this was the case, he soon fell into a sound sleep, 
and on awaking again, found that he had clean clothes on, and 

"Fdrt'nlte — not, fiort'nlt. ''F6r'v£nt— not, xunt. c As-t6n'ish-m5nt— 
not, munt. d Sub'st&nse — not, sub'stwnse. 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER. 229 

his nails cut. He had never seen the face of the man who 
brought him his food and drink." 

" In his hole, he had two wooden horses and several ribands. 
With these horses, when awake, he had always amused him- 
self, it being his only occupation, to make them run by his side 
and to tie the ribands about them in different positions. He had 
never been* sick ; and, in only one instance, had he felt the 
sensation of pain. Upon the whole, he had been* much happier 
there than in the world, where the effect of external objects 
upon his untutored senses, caused him much suffering. How 
long he had lived in this situation, he knew not ; for he had no 
knowledge of time : nor did he know when or how he came 
there ; nor had he any recollection of ever having been a else- 
where. His keeper had never done him any harm but once ; 
and then he gave him a severe blow with a piece of wood, be- 
cause he had run his horses so hard as to make a noise." 

"At length the man came, lifted him up, placed him on his 
feet, and endeavoured to teach him to stand. This ceremony 
he repeated several times ; until, at last, he came and placed 
Caspar's hands over h's shoulders, tied them fast, and then 
carried him on his back out of the prison vVhen he approached 
the fresh air, all became night ;" that is, he fainted away. 

Of Caspar's journey to the place where he was discovered by 
the citizen of Nuremberg, all he recollects, is, that, whilst per- 
forming it, " several times he ate bread and drank water ; that 
' the man with whom he had always been,' 3 repeatedly tried to 
teach him to walk, which attempts gave him great pain ; and 
that the man never spoke to him, except to repeat the words, 
1 Reuta waehn,' " &c. 

Caspar relates, that he never saw the face of the man, either 
on this journey, or in his prison ; and that not long before he 
was discovered in Nuremberg, the man had put the clothes upon 
him which he then wore. He neither observed nor saw the 
objects around him ; and therefore 1 ' could not tell from what 
part of the country, in what direction, or by which way, he 
came. All he was conscious of, was, that the man who had 
been leading him, put the letter which he brought with him, 
into his hand, and then disappeared. 

This history of the mysterious imprisonment and exposure 
of this ill-fated youth, presents, not only a fearful, but a most 
singular and obscure, enigma ; — an enigma which may, indeed, 
give rise c to innumerable questions and conjectures, 13 but upon 
which no light has, as yet, been shed that is likely to lead to its 

"Bin — not, b££n — nor, b£n. ! 'TH§r'f6re. c Rise. d K6n-j£h'tsbnrez. 



230 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

solution. Caspar's mental condition during his dungeon Hie, 
must have been that of a human being, shut up in his infancy, 
with his senses and his intellect immersed in a profound sleep, 
in which pitiable condition he was compelled to drag out, at 
least, sixteen long years of the bloom and spring-tide of life, 
without being conscious of even a dream. From the stupor 
of this more than half non-existent state, he at length awoke tc 
be stunned, and pained, and petrified, and amazed with the din, 
and clamour, and unintelligible impressions of a variegated 
world. This appearance 1 of one of our fellow beings, who had 
attained the physical powers and proportions of manhood, with- 
out ever having 1 learned the use of one of his senses, or without 
ever having one ray of knowledge enter his benighted and in- 
fantile soul, presents one of the most unique, and wonderful, 
and interesting, 1, and instructive anomalies which the world has 
ever beheld, and may be jusily regarded as a new page in the 
history of the human species. 

•What other crimes besides those of illegal imprisonment, 
privation, and exposure, may lie concealed behind the iniquity 
committed against Caspar, as well as the ends which his secret 
incarceration was intended to subserve, we must leave with the 
future to reveal. 



SECTION X. 
Caspar Hauser — Continued. 

Of Caspar's extraordinary powers of memory, and his no 
less wonderful ability to direct his attention to one object at a 
time, singly and undividedly, (an ability to gain which, all the 
efforts of the greatest philosophers' 1 have hitherto proved un- 
availing,) the following is an instance 6 given by the Hon. Von 
Feuerbach : 

On entering Caspar's apartment in the Luginsland, at the 
Vestner gate, accompanied by Col. Von D. and two ladies, he 
showed nothing like shyness or timidity, but met us with confi- 
dence/ and seemed to be rejoiced at our visit. The first thing 
that attracted his attention, was the Colonel's bright uniform ; 
and particularly his helmet, which glittered with gold, he could 
not cease to admire. After that, his attention was drawn tc the 
coloured dresses of the ladies ; but as for myself, being dressed 

a Ap-p££r'anse — not, wnse. L In't£r-&st-!ng. c Eks-tr6r'd^ , n^r-6. d F£ 
Jos'd'furz. e In'stanse — not, stunse. f A-part'm£nt. sKdn'fS'dSnsc. 



Chap. III. CASPAR HALSER. 231 

IB a plain, black frock coat, I was, for some time, scarcely 
honoured with a single glance. Each of us, in turn, placed 
himself separately before him, and mentioned his name and 
title. Whenever any one was thus introduced, Caspar went up 
very close to him, regarded him with a sharp and somewhat 
staring look, noticed, successively and singly, every part of his 
face, as his forehead, his eyes, nose, mouth, chin, and so forth, 
with a penetrating, rapid glance ; and, as I could distinctly per- 
ceive, at last, combined all the different portions of the counte- 
nance, which he had collected, piece by piece, into one whole. 
He then repeated the name of the person as it had been pro- 
nounced to him ; and now he knew him ; and, as after-experience 
proved, he knew him forever. 

In noticing any one of the numerous things, whether small 
or great, which were a in his possession, he was able to mention 
both the name and the title of the person who had bestowed it. 
About an hour after we had left him, we met him on the street ; 
and, on demanding whether he could recollect our names, with- 
out the least hesitation, he repeated the full name of every one 
of the company, together with his title, which, nevertheless, 
must have appeared to him as an unintelligible jargon. On 
many occasions, still more striking examples of his quick and 
wonderfully tenacious memory were displayed. Caspar averted 
his eyes as much as possible from the light, their sensibility 
being such as not to bear it ; for, it must be borne in mind, that 
in his dungeon, a ray of light had never visited them. 

In regard to colours, he evinced a strange predilection for 
glaring red, — blue, green, and paler hues, being held by him at. 
a comparatively low estimate. If the choice had been given 
him, he would have clothed himself, and all for whom he had a 
regard, in scarlet or purple. When a tree full of red apples 
was shown him, he expressed much satisfaction at the sight, bu 
thought it would have been far more beautiful, had its leaves 
also been as red as its fruit. There was but one advantage 
more which, in his eye, his favourite animals, horses, might 
have possessed. 1 ' It was that, instead of being black, bay, or 
white, their colour should invariably have been scarlet. 

The curiosity and thirst for knowledge which he evinced, 
together with the inflexible perseverance with which he fixed 
his attention to any thing he was determined to learn or com- 
prehend, surpassed every thing that can be conceived of them ; 
and the manner in which they were expressed, was truly affect- 
ing. Having no longer any relish for his playthings, his hours 

a W£r. 'Poz-zest -pfcr-se-vd'ranse — not, rwnse 



232 SELECTIONS Ii\ PROSE. 

throughout the day, were employed in writing, drawing, and 
other instructive exercises with which professor Dauiner engaged 
him. Bitterly did he complain to us, that the great number of 
visiters who thronged his apartment,* left him no time to learn 
any thing. li was very affecting to hear his often-repeated 
lamentation, that the people in the world knew so much, and 
that there were so very many things which he had not yet 
learned. 

On account of the unpleasant 1, and painful sensations which 
were produced by the many new impressions upon his faculties, 
to which he was totally unaccustomed — impressions which 
caused him excessive suffering,, he appeared to be by no means 
satisfied with living in the world, but longed to go back again to 
" the man with whom he had always been," and regain the rest 
and quietude he had enjoyed " at home in his hole." 

Notwithstanding Caspar yielded, to those who had acquired 
parental authority over him, unreserved and unconditional obe- 
dience, yet, before he would acknowledge any thing to be certain 
or true, it was necessary that he should he thoroughly con- 
vinced, either by the testimony of his senses, by intuition, or by 
some process of reasoning completely adapted to his powers of 
comprehension and the scanty acquirements of his almost 
vacant mind — an instructive lesson to such as are' apt to take 
things for granted without a proper examination of the evidence 6 
upon which their truth or falsity rests. Whenever it was 
impossible to reach his understanding through any of these 
channels, he would not, indeed, contradict the assertion made, 
but leave the matter undecided, until, as he would remark, he 
had learned more. 

When the first snow fell in the succeeding winter, on looking 
out in the morning, he expressed great joy that the streets, the 
roofs, and the trees, had been so well painted, and went quicjdy 
down into the yard to fetch some of the white paint ; but he 
soon ran back to his preceptor, with all his fingers stretched out, 
crying, blubbering, and bawling out, " that the white paint had 
bitten his hand." 

On my requesting Caspar to look out at the window upon an 
extensive prospect of a beautiful landscape/ which presented 
itself in all the glory of summer, he obeyed, but instantly drew 
back with horrour, exclaiming " ugly ! ugly !" This singular 
and disagreeable effect produced upon his vision, he explained 
*o me in 1831, by remarking, that the landscape 1 " upon which 

a A-part'ment — not, mwnt. 'Un-plez'ant — not, unt. c Ak-kwire'mcnts 
— not, munts. d ar. e Ev'e 'dense— not, dunse. f Land'sMpe 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAU3ER. 233 

he looked, then appeared to him like a window-shutter, placed 
close to his eyes, upon which a wall painter had spattered the 
contents of his different brushes, filled with white, blue, yellow, 
and red paint, all mingled together ; for at that time he had not 
learned, by experience, to distinguish single objects from each 
other, nor their various distances and magnitudes ; but the dis- 
agreeable, pary-coloured shutter appeared to come close up 
before him in such a manner as to prevent his looking out into 
the open air. He also remarked, that, for some time, he could 
not distinguish by the eye alone, those objects which were really 
round, square, or triangular, from the representation of such 
objects in a painting. Men, horses, and other animals repre- 
sented in pictures,* appeared to him, as it regarded their round- 
ness or flatness, precisely like the same, carved in wood. Their 
real difference, however, by the assistance of the sense of feel- 
ing, he soon learned, whilst engaged in packing and unpacking 
his toys and trinkets. In short, all the phenomena of sight dis- 
played by the young man who was couched by Dr. Cheselden, 
and, indeed, many more, or, in other words, all the wonderful 
phenomena which could be revealed by an infant, supposing it 
could be enabled to explain them, whilst learning to apply the 
organ of vision, were illustrated in Caspar. 

On the 18th of July, Caspar was released from his abode in 
the tower, and took up his residence'' in the family of professor 
Daumer. With this worthy gentleman, he soon learned to 
sleep in a bed, and, by degrees, to partake of common food. 
The former caused him, for the first time, to have dreams, 
which, until otherwise instructed, he looked upon as real trans- 
actions. 

The following observations concerning this wonderful youth, 
are taken from the notes of Mr. Daumer. After he had learned 
to eat meat, his mental vigour was abated ; his eyes lost their 
brilliancy; his unconquerable propensity to constant 3 activity, 
was diminished ; the intense application of his mind gave way 
to absence and indifference ; and the quickness of his apprehen- 
sion was also lessened. His change of diet, had, likewise, so 
great an effect upon his growth, that, in a few weeks, he 
increased more than two inches in height. 

By being occasionally employed in easy garden-work, Caspar 
became daily more and more acquainted with the productions, 
phenomena, and powers of nature, which, whilst it tended greatly 
to increase his stock of knowledge, constantly excited in him 

a PIk'tshorez— not, pik'tshurz. 'R^z'e 'dense — not, dzznse. 'Jen'tl'man 
—not, m«n. d K6n'stant — not, stunt. 
30* 



234 SELECTIONS 1^ PROSE. 

feelings of wonder and admiration; but it required no little 
pains to correct his mistakes, and teacli him the difference 
between things organick and such as are not organized, between 
things animate and inanimate, and between voluntary motion 
and that which is communicated from external causes. Many 
things" which bore the form of men or animals, though cut in 
stone, carved in wood, or painted, he would still conceive to be 
animated, and ascribe" to them such qualities as he perceived to 
exist in animated beings. It appeared strange to him that the 
figures 3 of horses, unicorns, ostriches, and so forth, which were 
either carved or painted upon the walls of houses, remained 
always stationary. He wondered that they did not run away. 
He expressed his indignation against a statue in the garden, 
because, when very dirty, it did not wash itself. When, for the 
first time, he saw the great crucifix on the outside of the church 
of St. Sebaldds, the view affected him with deep sympathy and 
horrour. He earnestly entreated that the man who was so 
dreadfully tormented, might be taken down ; nor could he, for a 
long time, be pacified, although it was explained to him, that it 
was not a real man, but merely an image, which felt nothing. 

Every motion he observed to take place in any object, he 
conceived to be voluntary, or a spontaneous effect of life. When 
a sheet of papei was blown down from the table by the wind, 
he thought that it had run away. On seeing a child's wagon 
rolling down a hill, it was, in his opinion, making an excursion 
to amuse itself. He supposed that a tree manifested its life by 
the waving of its. branches, and the motion of its leaves ; and 
its voice was heatd in the rustling of its leaves when they were 
moved by the wind. Fie severely rebuked a boy for striking a 
tree with a stick, and causing it, as he said, unnecessary pain. 
The balls of a ninepin alley, he conceived, ran voluntarily 
along, and, moreover, hurt other balls when they struck against 
them ; and when they stopped, it was because they were tired. 
He was, at length, convinced that a humming-top, which he had 
long been spinning, did not move voluntarily, only by finding 
that, after frequently winding up the cord, his arm began to 
pain him — being thus sensibly convinced, that he had himsell 
communicated the power which caused it to move. 

But to animals, particularly, for a long time he ascribed the 
same properties as to men, and appeared to distinguish the one 
from the other only by the difference in their external form. He 
was angry with a cat for taking its food with its mouth, without 

a Flg'i 1 irez— not, flg'urz. b Herd. c A-g£nst' 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSKR. 2H5 

ever employing its hands for that purpose. He wished to teach 
it to use its paws in eating, and to sit upright. He spoke to it 
as to a rational 4 being, and expressed great indignation at its 
unwillingness to attend to what he said, and to learn from him ; 
but he once highly commended the obedience of a particular 
dog. On seeing some oxen lying down in the street, he won- 
dered why they did not go "home, and lie down there. When 
it was told him, that such things could not be expected from 
animals, which knew no better, he replied, " Then they ought 
to learn : there are manv things which I, also, am obliged to 
learn." 

He had not the least conception of the origin and growth of 
any of the productions of nature, b but imagined that trees, 
plants, leaves, and flowers, and the like, were the mere work- 
manship of human hands. This mistake was corrected by his 
preceptor's causing him to plant some beans, and afterward to 
notice how they germinated, and produced leaves and fruit. 

Of the beauties of nature, lj for a long time, he had no idea ; 
nor did they seem otherwise to interest him than merely to ex- 
cite his curiosity to know who made such and such things. Yet 
there was one view presented to him, which formed a remark- 
able exception to the truth of this observation, and which ought 
to be regarded as. an important and never-to-be-Torgotten inci- 
dent 1 in the gradual development of his intellectual faculties. It 
was on a fine summer evening in the month of August, 1829, 
that his instructer showed him, for the first time, the starry 
heavens. His astonishment and transport at the sight, tran- 
scended all bounds, and surpassed description. He could not 
be satisfied with looking and gazing at the sublime spectacle : 
at the same time, he fixed accurately with his eye, the different 
groups of stars that were pointed out to him, noticed those most 
distinguished for their brightness, and remarked the difference 
in their respective colours. " This," he exclaimed, " is, indeed, 
the most beautiful and magnificent sight T have ever beheld in 
the world. But who placed all those beautiful candles there? 
who lights them 1 who puts them out 1" were the interrogatories 
which burst from his enraptured soul. When he was informed, 
that, like the sun, with which he had been for some time ac- 
quainted, they always remain there to give light by night, he 
was still not satisfied, but eagerly demanded again, u ho had 
made and hung them vp on high, that they might thus illumine 
that spacious vault ; — for, as yet, he had not formed a just idea 
of that Being who made all things, who " rules the heavenly 

■R&sh'&n'&l. •'Ni'tshure. c In't£r-£st. dln's^'dSnt— not, dunU 



236 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

host," and " calls the stars by name." At length, after standing 
motionless for some time, he fell into a train of profound medi- 
tation. On recovering from this re-very, his transport was 
succeeded by deep sadness. He sunk pale and trembling upon 
a chair, and asked, " why that wicked man had kept him 
always locked up — him who had never done any harm — and 
had never shown him any of these beautiful things." 

Caspar was soon after put under the care of a riding-master ; 
in which situation, in the delightful and noble accomplishment* 
of horsemanship, he soon greatly excelled. But besides .his 
extraordinary equestrian talents, the striking peculiarity, the 
almost preternatural acuteness and intensity of his perceptions, 
as evinced in the power of his senses, appeared so remarkable 
and wonderful in him as to elicit the admiration and astonish- 
ment 1 ' of all. 

As to his sight, there existed, in respect to him, no twilight, 
no night, no darkness. He revelled in an ocean of light. One 
unclouded day shone perpetually on his visual orb. He often 
looked with astonishment 1 upon others who were compelled to 
grope their way in the dark, or to use a candle or lantern. In 
twilight, however, he could see far better than in broad day- 
light. Thus, after sunset, he once read the number of a house 
at a distance 6*f 180 paces, which, in daylight, he was not able 
to distinguish so far off. Towards the close of twilight, he once 
pointed out to his instructer, a gnat that was hanging in a spi- 
der's web very distant. At a distance of 60 paces, he could 
distinguish, in the dark, elder-berries from black currants. In 
a totally dark night, he could also distinguish from each other, 
the different, dark colours, such as blue and green. When, at 
the commencement of twilight, a common eye could not per. 
ceive more than three or four stars in the sky, he could discern a 
the different groups, and distinguish, from each other, the sev- 
eral single stars of which the groups were composed, according 
to their magnitudes and the peculiarities of their coloured light. 
In distinguishing objects near by, his sight was as sharp as it 
was penetrating in discerning them at a distance. In anatom- 
izing plants, he often noticed subtile distinctions and delicate 
particles which had entirely escaped 6 the observation of others. 

But no less wonderful was the acuteness of his hearing. 
When taking a walk in the fields, he once hoard, at a distance 
comparatively very great, the footsteps of several persons, and 
was able to distinguish them from each other by their tread. 

"Ak-kdm'plish'mSnt. L'As-tftn'lsh'm&nt — not, mient c DIf'fur-Snt 
iDlz-zbrri. e E-sHpt'. 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER 237 

Of all his senses, however, that which proved the most ex- 
traordinary, and which gave him so many disagreeable and 
painful sensations as frequently to make him miserable, was the 
sense of smelling. What to ordinary olfactories, is entirely- 
scentless, was by no means so to his. The most delicate and 
delightful odours of flowers, such, for instance, 1 as those im- 
parted by the rose, were perceived by him as insupportable 
stenches, which painfully affected his nerves. What announces 
itself to others by its smell only when near, was scented by him 
at a great distance. 1 ' Excepting the smell of bread, of fennel, 
of anise, and of caraway, to which he had been already accus- 
tomed in his prison, (for there, it appears, his bread was sea- 
soned with these condiments,) all kinds of smells were more or 
less disagreeable to him : so much so, that, when asked, which 
of all smells he liked best, he piquantly replied, " none at all." 

His walks and rides were often rendered very unpleasant by 
their conducting him near flower gardens, tobacco fields, nut 
trees, and other ordinary shrubs and plants, which affected his 
olfactory nerves, and caused him to pay dearly for his recrea- 
tions in the open air, by their inflicting upon him head-aches, 
cold-sweats, and attacks of fever. Tobacco iji blossom he could 
smell at the distance of fifty paces ; and that hung up to dry, 
one hundred paces off. He could distinguish apple, pear, and 
plum trees from each other, at a considerable distance, by the 
smell of their leaves. The different colouring materials used 
in painting and dying, and even the ink and pencil with which 
he wrote — in short, all things around him wafted odours to his 
nostrils which were either unpleasant or painful to him. The 
smell of old cheese sickened him. The smell of vinegar, though 
it stood some distance from him, would bring tears into his eyes. 
The smell of champaign and other wines, would produce a 
heat in his head, and make him ill ; but of all smells, the most 
horrible to him, was that of fresh meat. 

In the autumn of 1828, when Caspar was walking with pro 
fessor Daumer near St. John's churchyard, the smell of the dead 
bodies in their graves, of which the professor had not the 
slightest perception, affected him so powerfully that he was 
immediately seized with an ague. d This was soon succeeded 
by an intense, feverish heat, which at length broke out into a 
most profuse perspiration. After the profuse sweats had sub- 
sided, he felt better, but complained that his sight had been 
obscured by this severe attack. Similar effects were once 
experienced by him after walking for some time near a tobacco 
field. 

"In'stinse — not, in'stunse. b Dls'tanse — not, dis'twnse. c W£r. d A'g-ft 



238 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

Caspar's sense of feeling, and susceptibility of metailick and 
magnetick excitement,* were 1, also very extraordinary. When 
professor Daumer. bv way of experiment, held the north pole 
of a magnet towels him/ he put his hand to the pit of his 
stomach, and, drawing nis waistcoat in an outward direction, 
remarked that the magnet drew him thus, and that a current of 
air seemed to proceed from him. The south pole affected him 
less powerfully ; and he said that it appeared like a current of 
air blowing upon him. 

In regard to his sensibility to the presence of metals, and his 
power to dirtinguish them from each other merely by his feel- 
ings, one or two instances may suffice. On entering a store 
filled with herdwaie, he immediately hurried out again, being 
affected with violent shuddering, and complaining that he felt a 
drawing sensation in every part of his body, and in all direc- 
tions at once. Upon a person's slipping a gold coin into Cas- 
par's hand without his seeing it, he immediately^ remarked, that 
he felt gold in his hand. At a time when Caspar was absent, 
professor Daumer once placed a gold ring, a brass and steel 
compass, and a silver drawing pen under some paper, and in 
such a manner that it was impossible for him to see what was 
concealed under it. Mr. Daumer then directed him to move his 
finger over the paper without touching it. He did so ; and by 
the difference of the sensation and the power of attraction which 
the various metals caused him to feel at the points of his fingers, 
he accurately distinguished and described them all, each from 
the other, according to its respective matter and form. 

With a view to deceive him, Caspar was once required, in 
the presence of several distinguished gentlemen, to run his hand 
over the paper, when, as they supposed, nothing was concealed 
under it. After moving his finger over it, he exclaimed, " there 
it draws." " But this time," replied professor Daumer, as he 
withdrew the paper, " you are mistaken, for nothing lies under 
it." Caspar seemed, at first, to be somewhat embarrassed ; but 
putting his finger again to the place where he thought he had 
felt the drawing, he assured them more positively than before, 
that he there felt a drawing. The oil cloth was then removed ; 
and upon making a stricter search, a needle was actually found 
under it. 

But notwithstanding the interest and instruction to be derived 
from an examination of Caspar's physical and physiological 
aspect, the contemplation of his intellectual powers and of their 
development and operation, after having lain so long dormant, 6 

a Eks-site'ment. 'Wer. cEks-per'^m^nt. d To urdz him — not, to 



Chap. III. CASPAR HAUSER. 239 

opens up a field still more richly stored with novelty and just 
subjects of philosophical' investigation: and wnilst we here dis- 
cover the acuteness of his natural understanding, we -ire, at the 
same time, enabled to draw exact conclusions concerning the 
fate of his life, and the state of utter neglect iti which his mind 
had so long bf j en left by the profligacy and baseness of human 
beings. Though his heart was filled with a child-like gentleness 
and kindness, which rendered him incapable of hurting a worm 
or a fly, much less, a man — though, in all the various relations 
of life, his conduct evinced that his soul was as pure and spot- 
less as the reflex of the eternal in the soul of an angel-.b yet, as 
has already been observed, he brought with him from hi? dun- 
geon to the light of the world, not an idea, not t»:e jyast presen- 
timent of the existence of a God, not the shadow of a belief 
in a more elevated, invisible intelligence than himself. Raised 
tike an animal, slumbering even while awake, in the desert of 
his narrow dungeon, sensible only of the crudest wants of ani- 
mal nature, occupied with nothing but the taking of his food 
and the eternal sameness of his wooden horses, his life may be 
compared to that of an oyster, which, adhering to its rock, is 
sensible of nothing but the absorption of its food, and perceives 
nothing but the everlasting, uniform dashing of the waves, find- 
ing in its narrow shell no room for the most limited idea of a 
world without. But Caspar was soon enabled to form a just 
conception of spiritual existences, and of a God ; and he has 
now become as sincerely pious as he is innocent and amiable. 

In Octooer, 1828, an attempt was made, at mid-day, to mur- 
der Caspar in the house of his patron and tutor, professor Dau- 
mer, with whom he then resided. The foul assassin who rush- 
ed in upon him, gave him a severe wound in his forehead with 
a sharp in' trument, which was supposed to have been aimed at 
his throat The blood-thirsty wretch (who is believed to be 
krwvM at Nuremberg, and is supposed to be either the former 
ke^oer of ( aspar, or one instrumental in his incarceration) made 
his escape, and, at the time of the writing of this narrative, had 
continued i > elude the arm of justice. 

In IH31 Caspar was adopted, by the Earl of Stanhope, as 
his footer rm ; and long ere 1 this, he has probably taken him 
home wifVhini to England.* Thus, this tender plant has hap- 

"Fii-O-zoffd-kal. 'ane'jel. l Eg-zist'£nse— not, wnse. d are. 



*The eprthlv career of the ill-fated Caspar Hauser, was short; his life, enigma- 
ically wonderful ; his end, tragical. On the 14th of December, 1833, he was met in 
the Paiuce Garden, at Anspach, by the same villain (according to Caspar's account) 
that attempted to assassirnte ! '-» : -i 1623, In this last attempt, the assassin was 



240 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

pily been transferred to a more genial soil, where it will be 
nou risked and protected from the rude blasts of a bustling world.* 



SECTION XI. 
Traits of Indian Character. — Ikving. 

There is something in the character and habits of the North 
American savage', taken in connexion with the scenery over 
which he is accustomed to range', its vast lakes', boundless for- 
ests', majestick rivers', and trackless plains', that is', to my 
mind', wonderfully striking and sublime'. He is formed for* 
the wilderness , as the Arab is for a the desert. His nature is 
stern', simple', and enduring'; fitted to grapple with difficulties', 
and to support privations'. There seems but little soil in his 
heart 1 ' for* the growth of the kindly virtues'; and yet', if we 
would but take the trouble to penetrate through that proud 
stoicism and habitual taciturnity which lock up his character 
from casual observation', we should find him linked to his fel- 
low man of civilized life by more of those sympathies and af- 
fections than are usually ascribed to him'. c 

It was the lot of the unfortunate aborigines of America', m 
<:he early periods of colonization', to be doubly wronged by the 
white men'. They have been dispossessed; 1 of their hereditary 
domains by mercenary and frequently wanton warfare'; and 
their characters have been traduced by bigoted and interested^ 
writers'. The colonist' . . has often treated them like beasts of 
the forest; and the author'. . has endeavoured to justify him in 
his outrages'. The former found it easier to exterminate than 
to civilize' — the latter', to vilify than to discriminate*. The 
appellations of savage and pagan', were deemed sufficient to 

a F6r — not, fer, nor, f'r. b in hiz heart — not, in iz art. c to him — not, to 
im. d Dls-p6z-zest'. e In'ter , est-ed. 

but too successful in the accomplishment of his diabolical purpose. Drawing sud 
denly a concealed dagger, he plunged it twice into the breast of Caspar, who, after 
lingering three days, expired of his wounds. The villain fled; and, at the date of 
the latest accounts, he had not been apprehended. Suspicion had fallen upon a 
merchant of Bavaria.— It appears that Lord Stanhope had not taken Caspar to Eng- 
land; but, up to the time of his death, had contributed to his support at Anspach. 

* These extracts are not designed to supersede the labours of the worthy transla- 
tor of "Caspar Hauser," but are presented with the view of bringing these labour* 
into notice — of recommending to the reading portion of the community, one of the 
most interesting and valuable publications of the present day — a cheaplittle volume 
which opens a new and rich vein of instruction, not unworthy the attention of t>l 
physiologist, the naturalist, and the philosopher 



Chap. III. TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 241 

sanction the hostilities of both'; and thus'. . the poor wanderers 
of the forest were persecuted and defamed', not because they 
were'*, .guilty', but because they were a . . .ignorant. 

The. rights of the savage have seldom been properly appre- 
ciated or respected by the white man*. In -peace ', he has too 
often been the dupe of artful traffick'; in war', he has been re- 
garded as a ferocious animal', whose life or death was a question 
of mere precaution and convenience 1 . Man is cruelly wasteful 
of life when his own safety is endangered', and he is sheltered 
by impunity'; and little mercy is to be expected from him when 
he feels the sting of the reptile', b and is conscious of the power 
to destroy'. 

The same prejudices which were indulged thus early 1 ' , exist', 
in common circulation', at the -present day 1 . Certain learned 
societies', it is true', have endeavourde', with laudable diligence', 
to investigate and record the real characters and manners of the 
Indian tribes 1 . The American government', too', has wisely and 
humanely exerted itself to inculcate a friendly and forbearing spirit 
towards them', and to protect them from fraud and d injustice'. 
The current opinion of the Indian character', however', is too 
apt to be formed from the miserable hordes which infest the 
frontiers", and hang on the skirts of the settlements'. 6 These'. . 
are too commonly composed of degenerate beings', corrupted 
and enfeebled by the vices of society', without being benefited 
by its civilization'. That proud independence which formed 
the main pillar of savage virtue', has been shaken down', and 
the whole moral fabrick lies in ruins'. Their spirits'. . are hu- 
miliated and debased by a sense of inferiority', and their native 
courage', .cowed and daunted*" by the superiourknowledgeand 
power of their enlightened neighbours'. Society has advanced 
upon them like one of. those withering airs that will sometimes 
breathe desolation over a whole region of fertility'. It has ener 
vated' their strength', multiplied their diseases', and superindu 
ced upon their original barbarity the low vices of artificial life . 
It has given them a thousand superfluous wants', whilst it has 
diminished their means of mere existence'.*- It has driven be- 
fore it the animals of the chase', which jfy from the sound of 
the axe and the smoke of the settlement', and seek refuge in the 
depths of remoter forests and yet untrodden wilds'. Thus do 
we too often find the Indians' on our frontiers to be the mere 
wrecks and remnants of once powerful tribes', that have linger- 
ed in the vicinity of the settlements', 6 and sunk into precarious 

a Wer. l R£p'til, cGav'urn'm^nt — not, g-uv'w'mwnt. d and — not, un. 
c J?St'-tl'mSnts— not, munts. f Dant'6d. £E-n£r'vd\t£d: '• E:;-;dst'£nse. 
In'de-anz. 



242 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

and vagabond existence 1 / Poverty', repining and hopeless 
poverty', a canker of the mind unknown in savage life', cor- 
rodes their spirits', and blights every free and noble quality of 
their natures 1 . They become drunken 1 , indolent', feeble 1 , thiev- 
ish', and pusillanimous 1 . They loiter', like vagrants', about the 
settlements', among spacious dwellings replete with elaborate 
comforts', which only render them sensible of the comparative 
wretchedness of their own condition 1 . Luxury'. . spreads its 
ample board before their eyes 1 ; but they are excluded from the 
banquet 1 . Plenty'. . revels over the fields 1 ; but they are starving 
in the midst of its abundance 1 : b the whole wilderness has blos- 
somed into a garden ; but they feel as reptiles that infest it 1 . 

How different was their state', while yet the undisputed lords 
of the soil 1 ! Their wants were few', and the means of grati- 
fication within their reach 1 . They saw every one round them 
sharing the same lot 1 , enduring the same hardships 1 , feeding on 
the same aliments', arrayed in the same rude garments 1 . No 
roof then rose', .but it was open to the homeless stranger 1 ; no 
smoke curled among the trees'. . but he was welcome to sit down 
by its fire', and join the hunter in his repast 1 . " For'," says an 
old historian of New-England', " their life is so void of care', 
and they are so loving also', that they make use of those things 
they enjoy as common goods 1 , and are therein so compassionate , 
that rather than one should starve through want', they would 
starve all': thus do they pass their time merrily 1 , not regarding 
our pomp', but are better content with their own", which some 
men esteem so meanly of 1 ." Such were the Indians', whilst 
in the pride and energy of their primitive natures 1 . They re- 
semble those wild plants which thrive best in the shades of the 
forest', but shrink from the hand of cultivation', and perish 
beneafh the influence of the su?i'. 

In discussing the savage character', writers have been too 
prone to indulge in vulgar prejudice and passionate exaggera- 
tion', instead of the candid temper of true philosophy -'.h They 
have not sufficiently considered the peculiar circumstances in 
which the Indians have been placed', and the peculiar principles 
under which they have been educated 1 . No being acts more 
rigidly from rule than the Indian'. His whole conduct is regu- 
lated according to some general maxims early implanted in his 
mind 1 . The moral laws that govern him', are', to be sure', but 
few'; but then', he conforms to them all'; — the white man 
abounds in laws of religion 1 , morals', and manners 1 ; but how 
in aj i y d oes he viola tc ' ! 

»Y.'r-v.i i'fense. b A-bft! 1 '(:amc — not, dwnse *WSr. 'T£-16s'o'f£ 



Chap. III. TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 243 

A frequent ground of accusation against the Indians', is their 
disregard of treaties', and the treachery and wantonness with 
which', in time of apparent 1 peace', they will suddenly fly to 
hostilities'. The intercourse of the white men with the Indians', 
however', is too apt to be cold 1 , distrustful', oppressive', and insult- 
ing'. They seldom treat them with that confidence and frank- 
ness which are indispensable to real friendship 1 ; nor is sufficient 
caution observed not to offend against those feelings of pride or 
superstition, which often prompt the Indian to hostility quicker 
than mere considerations of interest". The solitary savage' . . 
feels silently', but' . . acutely'. His sensibilities are not diffused 
over so wide a surface as those of the white man'; but they run 
in steadier and deeper channels'. His pride', his affections', his 
superstitions', are all directed towards fewer objects'; but the 
wounds inflicted on them'-, are proportionally severe', and fur- 
nish motives of hostility which we cannot sufficiently appre- 
ciate'. Where a community is also limited in number', and 
forms one great patriarchal family', as in an Indian tribe', the 
injury of an individual', is the injury of the whole'; and the 
sentiment of vengeance is almost instantaneously diffused'. One 
council-fire is sufficient for the discussion and arrangement of a 
plan of hostilities'. Here', all the fighting men and sages assem- 
ble'. Eloquence an4 superstition' . . combine to inflame the 
minds of the warriours'. The orator' . . awakens their martial 
ardour', and they are wrought up to a kind of religious despera 
tion by the visions of the prophet and the dreamer'. 



SECTION XII. 

Traits of Indian Character — Continued. — Ib. 

We stigmatize the Indians', also', as cowardly and treach- 
erous', because they use stratagem in warfare', in preference to 
open force ; but', if courage intrinsically consists in the defiance 
of danger and pain', the life of the Indian is a continual ex- 
hibition of it'. He lives in a state of perpetual hostility and 
risk'. Peril and adventured are congenial to his nature'; 6 or', 
rather', seem necessary to arouse his faculties', and to give an 
interest to his existence'. Surrounded by hostile 1 " tribes', whose 
mode of warfare is by ambush and surprisal', he is always 
prepared for fight', and lives with his weapons in his hands' 

a Ap-pi'rent. b K6n'f£-dense — not, dimse. c In'jiVrd — not, in'je'rfi 
■*Ad-vSn'tshare. eNi'tsharc. f H6s'til. 



244 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

As the ship' . . careers in fearful singleness through the solitudes 
of ocean', — as the bird' . . mingles among clouds and storms , 
and wings its way', a mere speck', across the pathless fields of 
air', so the Indian holds his course', silent', solitary', but'un 
daunted',* through the boundless bosom of the wilderness 1 . His 
expeditions may vie in distance and danger with the pilgrimage 
of the devotee', or the crusade of the knight-errant 1 . He tra- 
verses vast forests 1 , exposed to the hazards of lonely sickness 1 , 
of lurking enemies', and pining famine 1 . Stormy lakes', those 
great inland seas', are no obstacles to his wanderings 1 : in his 
light canoe of bark', he sports', like a feather', on their waves', 
and darts', with the swiftness of an arrow', down the roaring 
rapids of the rivers 1 . His very subsistence . .is snatched from 
the midst of toil and peril 1 . He gains his food by the hardships 
and dangers of the chase 1 ; he wraps himself in the spoils of the 
bear 1 , the panther', and the buffalo'; and sleeps among the 
thunders of the cataract 1 . 

No hero of ancient' or modern days can surpass the Indian 
in his lofty contempt of death', and the fortitude with which he. 
sustains its crudest affliction'. Indeed', we here behold him 
rising superiour to the white man', in consequence of his pecu- 
liar education 1 . The latter' . . rushes to glorious death' . . at the 
cannorfs mouth 1 ; the former' . . calmly Contemplates its ap- 
proach', and triumphantly endures it', amidst the varied torments 
of surrounding foes', and the protracted agonies of fire'. He 
even takes a pride in taunting" his persecutors', and provoking 
their ingenuity of torture 1 ;' 1 and', as the devouring flames prey 
on his very vitals', and the flesh shrinks from the sinews' , he 
raises his last song of triumph', breathing the defiance of an 
unconquered heart', and invoking the spirits of his fathers to 
witness' . . . that he dies without a groan'. 

Notwithstanding the obloquy with which the early historians 
have overshadowed the characters of the unfortunate natives', 
some bright gleams occasionally hreak through', which throw 
a degree of melancholy lustre on their memories 1 . Facts are 
occasionally to be met with in the rude annals of the eastern 
provinces', which', though recorded with the colouring of preju- 
dice* and bigotry' , yet speak for tliemselves ; and will be dwelt 
on with applause and sympathy', when prejudice 6 shall have 
passed away 1 . 

In one of the homely narratives of the Indian wars in New- 
England', there is a touching account of the desolation carried 

*Un-d&nt'£d. l '&ne'tshSnt. Anting. dTdr'tsHire. ep^jW.dls- 
Dot, prej'e-dis. f Dls , -6-li'shun — not, rfes'Z-a-shun. 



Chap. III. TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 245 

into the tribe of the Pequod Indians'. Humanity shrinks from 
the cold-blooded detail of indiscriminate butchery 1 . In one place 
we read of the surprisal of an Indian fort in the night\ when 
the wigwams were wrapped in flames'", and the miserable inhab- 
itants shot down and slain in attempting to escape', a " all being 
despatched and ended iu the course of an hour 1 ." After a series 
of similar transactions','' our soldiers'," as the historian piously 
observes', " being resolved', by God's assistance', to make a 
final destruction of them'," the unhappy savages being hunted 
from their homes and fortresses', and pursued with fire and 
sword', 6 a scanty but gallant band', the sad remnant »'f the 
Pequod warriours , with their wives and children', took refuge 
in a swamp'. 

Burning with indignation', and rendered sullen by despair'; d 
with hearts bursting with grief at the destruction of their tribe', 
and spirits galled and sore at the fancied ignominy of their 
defeat', they refused to ask their lives at the hands of an insult- 
ing foe', and preferred death to submission". 

As the night drew on', they were surrounded in their dismal 
retreat', so as to render escape impracticable 1 . Thus situated', 
their enemy " plied them with shot all the time', by which 
means many were killed and buried in the mire'." In the dark- 
ness and fog that preceded the dawn of day', some few broke 
through the besiegers and escaped into the woods': " the rest 
were left to the conquerors', of which many were killed in the 
swamp', like sullen dogs', who would rather', in their self-willed- 
ness and madness', sit still and be shot through', or cut to pieces'," 
than implore for mercy 1 . When the day broke upon this handfull 
of forlorn but dauntless spirits', the soldiers', we are told', enter- 
ing the swamp', " saw several heaps of them sitting close toge- 
ther', upon whom they discharged their pieces', laden with ten or 
twelve pistol-bullets at a time'; putting the muzzles of the pieces 
under the boughs', within a few yards of them'; so as', besides 
those that were found dead', many more were killed and sunk 
into the mire', and never were minded more by friend or foe'." 

Can any one read this plain', unvarnished tale', without ad- 
miring the stern resolution', the unbending pride', the loftiness 
of spirit', that seemed to nerve the hearts of these self-taught 
heroes', and to raise them above the instinctive feelings of human 
nature'? When the Gauls laid waste the city of Rome', thej 
found the senators clothed in their robes', and seated with stern* 
tranquillity in their curule chairs': in this manner they suffere& 

a e-skipe' — not, es-kipe'. l S6rd. c Tshil'dr£n — not, tshil'drun. d D£ 
spire' — not, dis-p&re. 

21* 



246 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

dealh without resistance 11 or even supplication'. Such conduct 
was', in them', applauded as noble and magnanimous 1 — in the 
hapless Indians' , it was reviled as obstinate and sullen'. How 
truly are 1 ' we the dupes of show and circumstance'! How differ- 
ent is virtue', clothed in purple and enthroned in state', from 
virtue', naked and destitute', and perishing obscurely in a wil- 
derness' ! c 

But 1 forbear to dwell on these gloomy pictures'. d The east- 
ern tribes have long since disappeared'; the forests that sheltered 
them have been laid low'; and scarce any traces remain of them 
in the thickly-settled states of New-England', excepting here 
and there the Indian name of a village or a stream'. And such 
must', sooner or later', be the fate of those other tribes which 
skirt the frontiers', and have occasionally been inveigled from 
their forests to mingle in the wars of the white men'. In a 
little while', and they will go the way that their brethren have 
gone before'. The few hordes which still linger about the 
shores of Huron and Superiour', and the tributary streams of 
the Mississippi', will share the fate of those tribes that once 
spread over Massachusetts and Connecticut', and lorded it along 
the proud banks of the Hudson'; of that gigantick race', said to 
have existed on the borders oT the Susquehanna'; and of those 
various nations that flourished about the Potomack and the Rap- 
pahannock', and that peopled the forests of the vast valley of 
Shenandoah'. They will vanish', like a vapour', from the face 
of the earth"; their very history will be lost in forgetfulness', 
and "the places that now know them', will know them no more 
for ever'." Or if, perchance', some dubious memorial of them 
should survive', it may be', in the romantick dreams of the poet\ 
to people', in imagination', his glades and groves', like the fauns 
and satyrs and sylvan deities of antiquity'. But', should he 
venture 6 upon the dark story of their wrongs and wretchedness'; 
should he tell how they were invaded', corrupted', despoiled'; 
driven from their native abodes and the sepulchres of their 
fathers'; hunted like wild beasts about the earth'; and sent down 
with violence f and butchery to the grave' .... posterity will 
either turn with horrour and incredulity from the tale', or blush 
with indignation at the inhumanity of their forefathers'. — " We 
are driven back'," said an old warriour', " until we can retreat 
no farther' — our hatchets' . . are b broken', our bows' . . are b 

a R£-z!st'&nse — -not, r£-zist'anse. b ir — not, ire. c WU'dur , n^s — not 
wu'dur-nis. d Plk'tshttrez-not, pik'tshurz. e V£n'tshare. f Vl'6'l£nse— 
not, vl-a'lunse. 



Chap. III. SPEECH OF LOGAN, A MIXGO CHIEF. 247 

snapped', our fires' . . are* nearly extinguished' — a little lorger 
and the white man will cease to persecute us', for we' .... shall 
cease to exist'!" 



SECTION XIII. 
Speech of Logan, Chief of the Mingoes. — Jefferson. 

I may challenge the whole of the orations of Demosthenes 
and Cicero, and, indeed, of any more eminent orators, if Europe, 
or the world, has furnished more eminent, to produce a single 
passage superiour to the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, deliv- 
ered to Lord Dunmore, when governour of Virginia. As a 
testimony of Indian talents in this line, I beg leave to introduce 
it, by first stating the incidents'" necessary for understanding it. 

In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery was committed 
by some Indians upon certain land adventurers on the Ohio 
river. The whites in that quarter, according to their custom, 
undertook to punish this outrage in a summary way. Captain 
Michael Cresap and one Daniel Greathouse, leading on these 
parties, surprised, at different times, travelling and hunting par- 
ties of the Indians, who had their women and children with 
them, and murdered many. Among these were c unfortunately 
the family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace and war, and 
long distinguished as the friend of the whites. This unworthy 
return provoked his vengeance. He accordingly signalized 
himself in the war which ensued. In the autumn of the same 
year a decisive 11 battle was fought at the mouth of the Great 
Kenhaway, 6 between the collected forces of the Shawnese, the 
Mingoes, and the Delawares, and a detachment of the Virginia 
militia. The Indians were c defeated, and sued for peace. Lo- 
gan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants : but, 
lest the sincerity of a treaty, from which so distinguished a 
chief absented himself, should be distrusted, he sent, by a mes- 
senger, the following speech to be delivered to Lord Dunmore 

" I appeal to any white man to say', if ever he entered Lo- 
an's cabin hungry' , and he gave him not meat'; if ever he came 
cold and naked', and he clothed him not'. During the course 
of the last long and bloody war', Logan remained idle in his 
cabin', an advocate for peace'. Such was my love for the 
s', that my countrymen pointed as they passed', and said', 
'Logan is the friend of the white men'.' I had even thought 

*kr. L In's£'d£nts. c Wer. ^D^-si'siv. e K£n-h&w'w&. 



I 



448 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

to live with you', bjt for the injuries of one man'. Colonel 
Cresap', last spring', in cold blood', and unprovoked', murder- 
ed all the relatives of Logan 1 , not sparing even my a women 
and children'. There runs not a drop of my a blood in the veins 
of any living creature'. This called on me for revenge'. I 
have sought if. I have killed many". I have fully glutted my a 
vengeance'. For my a country', I rejoice at the beams of peace': 
but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear': Lo- 
gan never felt fear'. He will not turn on his heel'. . . to save his 
life'. Who is there to mourn for Logan'? Not owe'." 



\ / 

SECTION XIV. 

Speech of Farmer's Brother. 

The sachems', chiefs', and warriours of the Seneca nation', 
to the sachems and chiefs assembled about the great council-fire 
of the state of New-York. 

Brothers' — As you are once more assembled in council', for 
the purpose of doing honour to yourselves and justice to your 
country', we', your brothers', the sachems', chiefs', and war- 
riours of the Seneca nation', request yon to open your ears', 
and give attention to our voice and wishes'. 

Brothers' — You will recollect the late contest between you 
and your father', the great, king of England'. This contest 
threw the inhabitants 11 of the whole island into a great tumult 
and commotion', like a raging whirlwind', which tears up the 
trees', and tosses to and fro the leaves', so that no one knows 
whence they come', or when they will fall'. 

Brothers' — This whirlwind was so directed by the Great 
Spirit', as to throw into our arms two of your infant children', 
Jasper Parrish' and Horatio Jones'. We adopted them into our 
families', and made them our children'/ We loved them', and 
nourished them'. They lived with us many years'. At length 
the Great Spirit spoke to the whirlwind' . . . and it was still'.*' 
A clear and uninterrupted sky appeared'. The path of peace 
was opened', and the chain of friendship was once more made 
bright'. Then these', our adopted children', left us to seek 
their relatives'. We wished them to remain among us', and 
promised', if they would return and live in our country', to give 

a Me. kln-h&b'SUnts— not, twnts. c In'f&nt. dTshil'drSn— not, drtm. 
* God said, Let there be light ; and there was light. 



Chap. III. RED JACKET. 249 

each of them a seat of land for them and their children to set 
down upon'. 

'Brothers' — They have returned', and have', for several years 
past', been serviceable to us as interpreters'. We still feel our 
hearts beat with affection for them', and now wish to fulfil the 
promise we made them', and to reward them for their services'. 
We have therefore made up our minds to give them a seat of 
two square miles of land lying on the outlet of Lake Erie', 
about three miles below Black-Rock'. 

Brothers' — We have now made known to you our minds'. 
We expect', and earnestly request', that you will permit our 
friends to receive this our gift', and will make the same good to 
them', according to the laws and customs of your nation'. 

Brothers' — Why should you hesitate to make our minds easy 
with regard to this our request'? To you it is but a little thing'; 
and have you not complied with the request', and confirmed the 
gift', of our brothers', the Oneidas', the Onondagas', and the 
Cayugas', to their interpreters'] and shall we ask', and not be 
heard'? 

Brothers' — We send you this our speech', to which we ex 
pect your answer before the breaking up of your great council 
fire'. 



SECTION XV. 

Red Jacket ; a Chief of the Indian Tribe, the Se?iecas.* 
Halleck. 

Cooper', whose name is with his country's woven', 

First in her files', her pioneer of mind', 
A wanderer now in other climes', has proven' 

His love for the young land he left behind'; 

And throned her in the senate-hall of nations', 
Robed like the deluge rainbow', heaven-wrought', 

Magnificent as his own mind's creations', 

And beautiful as its green world of thought'. 

And', faithful to the act of congress', quoted' 

As law authority' — it passed nem. con.'t — 
He writes', that we are', as ourselves have voted', 

The most enlightened people ever known': 

That all our week is happy as a Sunday' 

In Paris\ full of song', and dance', and laugh'; 

And that', from Orleans to the bay of Fundy', 
There 's not a bailiff', nor an epitaph\ 

* From Bliss' Talisman, 1*20. jJVemine contra dicente, no one contradicting. 



250 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

And', furthermore' — in fifty years', or sooner , 

We shall export our poetry and wine', 
And our brave fleet', eight frigates and a schooner 

Will sweep the seas from Zembla to the line'. 

If he were with me', king of Tuscarora', 

Gazing', as I', upon thy portrait now'; 
In all its medalled', fringed', and beaded glory', 

Its eye's dark beauty', and its thoughtful brow 7 — 

Its brow', half martial', and half diplomatick', 
Its eye', upsoaring like an eagle's wings'; 

Well might he boast', that we', the democratick', 
Outrival' . . Europe', even' . . in our kings\ 

For thou wert monarch hbrn\ Tradition's pages'" 
Tell not the planting of thy parent* tree', 

But', that the forest-tribes have bent', for ages', 
To thee and to thy sires the subject knee\ 

Thy name is princely'. — Though no poet's magick' 
Could make Red Jacket grace an English rhyme'. 

Unless he had a genius for the tragick', 
And introduced it in a pantomime'; 

Yet', it is musick in the language spoken 
Of thine own land'; and on her herald-roll', 

As nobly fought for', and as proud a token' 
As Cosur de Lion's',* of a warriour's sour. 

Thy garb' — though Austria's bosom-star would frighten 
That medal pale', as diamonds the dark mine', 

And George the Fourth wore', in the dance at Brighton , 
A more becoming evening dress than thine'; 

Yet', 'tis a brave one', scorning wind and weather', 
And fitted for thy couch on field and flood', 

As Rob Roy's tartans'^ for the Highland heather', 
Or forest-green', for England's Robin Hood'. 

Is strength a monarch's merit'? (like a whaler's'?) 
Thou art as tall', as sinewy', and as strong' 

As earth's first kings' — the Argo's gallant sailors', 
Heroes in history', and gods in song'. 

Is eloquence'? Her spell is thine that reaches' 
The heart', and makes the wisest head its sport'; 

And there 's one rare', strange virtue in thy speeches', 
The secret of their mastery' — they are short\ 

Is beduty'l Thine has with thy youth departed', 
But the love-legends of thy manhood's years', 

And she', who perished', young and broken-hearted', 
Are' — but I rhyme for smiles\ and not for tears'. 

Pi'rent — not, par'wnt. *Keur de Lion, the heart of a lion. 



Chap. III. psalm 90. 251 

The monarch mind* — the mystery of commanding^, 

The godlike power', the art Napoleon', 
Of winning', fettering', moulding', wielding', banding' 

The hearts of millions till they move as one'; 

Thou hast it'. At thy bidding men have crowded' 

The road to death as to a festival'; 
And minstrel minds', without a blush', have shrouded' 

With banner-folds of glory their dark pall'. 

Who will believe'— r not I' — for in deceiving', 

Lies the dear charm of life's delightful dream '; 

I cannot spare the luxury of believing' 

That all things beautiful are what they seem'. 

Who will believe', that', with a smile whose blessing' 
Would', like the patriarch's',* sooth a dying hour'; 

With voice', as low', as gentle', and caressing', 
As e'er b won maiden's iip in moonlight bower'; 

With look', like patient Job's', eschewing evil'; 

With motions', graceful as a bird's in air'; 
Thou art', in sober truth', the veriest' . . . DEVIL' 

That e'er b cilnched fingers in a captive's hair'? 

That', in thy veins there springs a poison fountain , 
Deadlier than that which bathes the Upas tree'; 

And in thy wrath', a nursing cat o' the mountain' 
Is calm as her babe's sleep', compared with thee'? 

And underneath that face', like summer's ocean's', 

Its lip as moveless', and its cheek as clear', 
Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions' — 

Love', hatred', pride', hope', sorrow' — all', save fear' 

Love' — for thy land\ as if she were d thy daughter^, 

Her pipes in peace', her tomahawk in wars'; 
Hatred' — of missionaries and cold water'; 

Pride' — in thy rifle trophies- and thy scars'; 

Hope' — that thy wrongs will be', by the Great Spirit', 
Remembered and revenged when thou art gone'; 

Scrrow' — that none are left thee to inherit' 

Thy name', thy fame', thy passions', and thy throne 



SECTION XVI. 
Psalm 90. 

God eternal, and Man mortal. 

Lord', thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations'. 
Before the mountains*" were brought forth', or ever thou hadst 

»P&'tre'&rks. l &re cEs-tsh6o'ing. ^WSr. e Tr6'fiz. M6unfln2 
— not» mount'rzz. 



252 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

formed the earth and the world', even from everlasting to ever 
'asting', thou art God'. 

Thou turnest man to destruction'; and sayest', " Return', ye 
children of men'." For a thousand* years in thy sight', are but 
as yesterday when it is past', and as a watch in the night . 
Thou carriest men away as with a flood'. They are as a sleep': 
in the morning', they are like grass which groweth up': in the 
morning it flourisheth', and groweth up'; in the evening it is cut 
down', and withereth'. For we are consumed by thine anger', 
and by thy wrath are we troubled'. 

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee', our secret sins in 
the light of thy countenance'. For all our days are passed 
away in thy wrath': we spend our years as a tale that is told'. 
The days of our years are threescore years and ten'; and if, 
by reason of strength', they be fourscore years', yet is their 
strength labour and sorrow'; for it is soon cut off, and we fly 
away'. 

Who knoweth the power of thine anger'? Even according 
to thy fear', so is thy wrath'. So teach us to number our days 
that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom'. 



Version of the same. — Watts. 

Through ever}' age', eternal God', 

Thou art our rest', our safe abode 1 : 

High was thy throne ere 1 ' heaven was made , 

Or earth', thy humble footstool', laid'. 

Long hadst thou reigned ere b time began', 
Or dust was fashioned into man 1 ; 
And long thy kingdom shall endure', 
When earth and time shall be no more'. 

But man', weak man', is born to die\ 
Made up of guilt and vanity': 
Thy dreadful sentence', Lord', was just\ 
" Return', ye sinners', to your dust'." 

A thousand* of our years amount' 
Scarce to a day in thine account'; 
Like yesterday's departed light', 
Or the last watch of ending night'. 

Death', like an overflowing stream', 
Sweeps us away': our life 's a dream', 
An empty tale', a morning flower', 
Cut down and withered in an hour'. 

•rA6u/z&nd— not, ihon'zn. '"Are. c Sen'tense — not, sen'tunse 



Chap. III. st. john. 253 

Oui age'. . to seventy years'. . is set': 
How short the time ! how frail the state'. 
And if to eighty we arrive', 
We rather sigh and groan', than live\ 

But', oh'! how oft thy wrath appears', 
And cuts off our expected years'! 
Thy wrath awakes our humble 11 dread 1 : 
We fear the power that strikes us dead 1 . 

Teach us', O Lord', how frail is man 1 ; 
And kindly lengthen out the span', 
Till a wise care of piety' 
Fit us to'. . die and dwell with thee'. 



SECTION XVII. 
St.Johji, chapter 12. 

Repenting Mary. 



Then', six days before the passover', Jesus came to Bethany , 
where Lazarus was who had been dead', and whom he had 
raised from the dead 1 . There they made him a supper 1 ; and 
Martha served': but Lazarus was one of them that sat at the 
table wit) 2 - him\ 

Then 'ook Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard', very 
costly', z d anointed the feet of Jesus', and wiped his feet with 
her hai?' and the house was filled with the odour of the oint- 
ment'. 



Version of the same. — Moore. 

Were 11 not the sinful Mary's tears' 

An offering worthy heaven', 
When o'er the faults of former years' 

She wept'. . . and was forgiven'? 

When', bringing every balmy sweet' 

Her day of Luxury stored', 
She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet' 

The precious perfumes poured'; 

And wiped them with that golden hair 7 , 
Where once the diamond shone', 

Though now those gems of grief were b there* 
Which shine for God alone'? 

"Um'bl. b Wer. 



22 



254 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Were* not those sweets', so humbly shed' 
That hair' — those weeping- eyes' — 

And the sunk heart that inly bled', 
Heaven's noblest sacrifice'? 5 

Thou that hast slept in errour's sleep', 
Oh'! wouldst thou wake in heaven', 

Like Mary'. . kneel', like Mary'. . weep', 
" Love much'". . . and be forgiven'. 



SECTION XVIII. 

There 's nothing true but Heaven. — Moore. 

This world is all a fleeting show', 

For man's illusion given'; 
The smiles of joy', the tears of wo', 
Deceitful shine', deceitful flow' — 

There 's nothing true'. . but Heaven 1 . 

And false the light on glory's plume', 

As fading hues of even 1 ; 
And love', and hope', and beauty's bloom, 
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb 1 — 

There 's nothing bright'. . but Heaven' , 

Poor wanderers of a stormy day', 

From wave to wave we 're driven 1 ; 
And fancy's flash', and reason's ray', 
Serve but to light the troubled way' — 
There 's nothing calm but Heaven'. 



Secret Devotion. — Ib. 

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean, 

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, 
So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion, 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, 
My God, silent c to thee : 
Pure, warm, silent c to Thee — 
So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. 

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, 

The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, 
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, 
My God, trembling to Thee ; 
True, fond, trembling to Thee — 
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee. 

a Wer. ' Sak're-flze. °Si'lent— not, sl'lwnt. 



Chap. III. THE SOUL IN ETERNITY. 255 

SECTION XIX. 
The Soul in Eternity. — Byron. 

When coldness wraps this suffering clay', 

Ah', whither strays the immortal mind'? 
It cannot die', it cannot stay', 

But leaves its darkened dust behind'. 
Then', unembodied', doth a it trace' 

By steps each planet's heavenly way'? 
Or fill', at once', the realms of space 1 ; 

A thing of eyes that all survey 1 ? 

Eternal', boundless', undecayed', 

A thought unseen', but seeing all', 
All', all in earth or skies displayed' 

Shall it survey', shall it recall': 
Each fainter trace that memory holds' 

So darkly of departed years', 
In one broad glance the soul beholds', 

And all that was', at once appears'. 

Before creation peopled earth', 

Its eyes shall roll through chaos back'; 
And', where the farthest heaven had birth', 

The spirit trace its rising track'. 
And', where the future' . . mars or makes', 

Its glance dilate o'er all to be', 
While sun' . . is quenched', or system' b . . breaks', 

Fixed' ... in its own eternity'. 

Above or love', hope', hate', or fear', 

L aves all passionless and pure': 
An age shall fleet like earthly year'; 

Its years as moments shall endure'. 
Away', away', without a wing', 

O'er all', through all', its thought shall fly'* 
A nameless and eternal thing', 

Forgetting what it was to die'. 



SECTION XX. 

Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy on Sleep. — Siiakspeare. 

How many thousands of my d poorest subjects 
Are', at this hour', asleep". O', gentle sleep'! 
NatureV soft nurse': how have I frighted thee', 
That thou no more wilt weigh my d eyelids down', 
And steep my d senses in forgetfulness'? 
Why rather', sleep', liest thou in smoky cribs', 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee', 

xT >&th. 'Sls'tem. c M6'ments. d Me. e M'tsh6rez. 



256 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber', 
Than in the perfumed chambers* of the great*, 
Under the canopies of costly state', 
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody*? 

O', thou dull god'! Why liest thou with the vile\ 
In loathsome beds', and leav'st the kingly couch', 
A watch-case\ or a common Harum-beW? 
Wilt thou', upon the high and giddy mast', 
Seal up the ship-boifs eyes', and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude', imperious surge', 
And in the visitation of the winds 
Which take the ruffian billows by the top', 
Curling their monstrous heads', and hanging them 
With deaf'ning b clamours in the slipp'ry clouds', 
That', with the hurly* death itself awakes' — 
Canst thou', O', partial sleep'! give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude', 
And', in the calmest and the stillest night', 
With all appliances and means to boot', 
Deny it to a KING'? Then happy', low lie down'. 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown\ 



SECTION XXI. 

Apostrophe to Light. — Milton. 

Hail ! holy Light, offspring of Heaven first born, 

Or of the eternal co-eternal beam, 

May I express thee unblamed ? Since God is light, 

And never but in unapproached light 

Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 

Bright effluence of bright essence in create, 

Or hear'st thou, rather, pure ethereal stream, 

Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun, 

Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 

Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 

The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

Won from the void and formless infinite. 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight, 
Through utter and through middle darkness borne 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre 
I sung of chaos and eternal night. 
Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to rcascend, 
Though hard and rare ; Thee I revisit safe, 
And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain, 

*Noise. »Tshime'burz. b Def fnlng. c Es's§nse — not ds'si/nse. 



Chap. III. DARKNESS. 25? 

To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 

So thick a drop serene hath quenched their oros, 

Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the mure 

Cease I to wander where the muses haunt, 

Clear spring or shady grove, or sunny hill, 

Smit with the love of sacred song ; hut chief 

Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 

Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget 

Those other two, equalled with me in fate, 

So were I equalled with them in renown, 

Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, 

And Tyresias and Piiineas, prophets old : 

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move 

Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 

Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, 

Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year, 

Seasons return, but not to me returns . . . 

Day, or the sweet approach of even and morn; 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 

Or flocks, or herds, or h uman face divine ; 

But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark 

Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 

Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair, 

Presented with a universal blank 

Of nature's works, to me expunged and razed, 

And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out. 

So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 

Irradiate: there plant eyes, all mist from thence 

Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 

Of things invisible to mortal sight. 



SECTION XXII. 

Darkness. — Byron. 

I had a dream', which was not all a dream'. 
The bright sun was extinguished', and the stars 
Did wander', darkling in the eternal space', 
Rayless' and pathless', and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air 1 . 
Morn came', and went', and came', and brought no day 
And men furgot their passions in the dread 
Of this their desolation'; and all hearts 
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light'. 
And they did live by watchfires'; and the thrones' 
The palaces of crowned kings' — the huts', 
The habitations of all things which dwell', 
Were burned for beacons'. Cities were consumed', 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes 
To look once more into each other's face' 
22* 



2*8 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Happy were they who dwelt within the eye 
Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch 1 . 
A fearful hope was all the world contained 1 ; 
Forests were set on fire'; and hour by hour 
They fell and faded* — and the crackling trunks 
Extinguished with a crash! — and all was black 1 . 

The brows of men', by the despairing light', 
Wore an unearthly aspect', as by fits 
The flashes fell upon them 1 . Some lay down', 
And hid their eyes', and wept'; and some did rest 
Their chins upon their clinched hands', and smiled 1 * 
And others hurried to and fro', and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel', and looked up 
With mad disquietude on the dull sky 1 , 
The pall of a past world'; and then again'* 
With curses cast them down upon the dust', 

And gnashed their teeth', and howled 1 . The wild birds shrieked 
And', terrified', did flutter on the ground', 
And flap their useless wings 1 ; the wildest brutes 
Came tame and tremulous'; and vipers crawled 
And twined themselves among the multitude 1 , 
Hissing', but stingless 1 . They were slain for food 1 : 
And war', which', for a moment', 6 was no more', 
Did glut himself again 1 ; a — a meal was bought 
With blood 1 ; and each sat sullenly apart', 
Gorging himself in gloom 1 . No love was left'; 
All earth was but one thought 1 ; and that was' . . . death 1 , 
Immediate and inglorious 1 ; and the pang 
Of famine fed upon all entrails 1 . Men , 

Died 1 , and their bones were torn bless as their flesh 1 ; 
The meager by the meager were devoured 1 . 
Even dogs assailed their masters 1 ; all', save one 1 , 
And he was faithful to a corse', c and kept 
The birds and beasts', and famished men', at bay', 
Till hunger clung them', or the dropping dead 
Lured their lank jaws'. Himself sought out no food 1 , 
But with a piteous and perpetual moan', 
And a quick', desolate cry', licking the hand 
Which answered not with a caress' ... he died 1 . 

The crowd was famished by degrees 1 ; but two 
Of an enormous city did survive', 
And they were enemies 1 . They met beside 
The dying embers of an altar-place', 
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage 1 : they raked up', 
And', shivering', scraped with their cold skeleton hands 
The feeble ashes 1 , and their feeble breath 
Blew for a little life', and made a flame 
Which was a mockery 1 . Then they lifted up 
Their eyes as it grew lighter', and beheld 
Each other's aspects 1 — saw 1 , and shrieked', and died 1 : — 

a A-gen'. b M6'ment. c K6rse. 



Chap. III. lochiel's warning. 259 

Even of their mutual hideousness they died , 

Unknowing who he was upon whose hrow 

Famine had written' . . fiend 1 .* The world was void'; 

The populous and the powerful were a lump 1 , 

Seasonless', herbless 1 , treeless', manless', lifeless 1 — 

A lump of death' — a chaos of hard clay*. 

The rivers', lakes 1 , and ocean', all stood still', 

And nothing- stirred within their silent 1, depths 1 . 

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea', 

And their masts fell down piecemeal'; as they dropped' 

They slept on the abyss without a surge". — 

The waves were dead 1 ; the tides were in their grave \ 

The moon', their mistress', had expired before 1 ; 

The winds were withered in the stagnant air'; 

And the clouds perished 1 . Darkness had no need 

Of aid from them' — she was the universe 1 . 



SECTION XXIII. 
LochieVs Warning. — Campbell 



Lochiei/, Lochiel', beware of the day' 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array'.' 
For -a field of the dead rushes red on my sight', 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight 1 . 
They rally', they bleed', for their kingdom and crown* 
Wo', wo . . to the riders that trample them down 1 ! 
Proud Cumberland prances', insulting the slain', 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain 1 . 
But hark'! through the fast-flashing lightning of war 1 
What steed to the desert flies frantick and far 1 ? 
'Tis thine*, oh Glenullin'! whose bride shall await', 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire', all night at the gate 1 . 
A steed comes at morning 1 : no rider is there 1 ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair 1 . 
Weep, Albin'! to death and captivity led 1 ! 
Oh,' wetp'l but thy tears cannot number the dead 1 : 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave', 
Culloden'! that reeks with the blood of the brave 1 . 



Go', preach to the coward\ thou death-telling seer 1 . 
Or', if gory Culloden so dreadful appear', 
Draw', dotard', around thy old wavering sight', 
This mantle 1 , to cover the phantoms of fright 1 . 

a Feend. a Si'lent — not sl'lunt. 



2G0 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 



Ha'! laugh'st thou', Lochicl', my vision to scorn'? 
Proud bird of the mountain',* thy plume shall be torn. 
Say\ rushed the bold eagle', exultingly forth', 
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north'? 
Lo'! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding', he rode' 
Companionless', bearing destruction abroad'; 
But down let him stoop from his havock on high 1 ! 
Ah'! home let him speed' ... for the spoiler is nigh\ 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast' 
Those embers', like stars from the firmament cast'? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin\ all dreadfully driven' 
From his eyry', b that beacons the darkness of heaven'. 
Oh', crested Lochiel'! the peerless in might', 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height', 
Heaven's fire is around thee', to blast and to burn 1 ; — 
Return to thy dwelling": all lonely return 1 ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood', 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood'. 



False Wizard', avaunV! I have marshalled my clan 1 : 
Their swords are a thousand'; their bosoms are c one': 
They are c true to the last of their blood and their breath', 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death'. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock'! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock'! 
But wo to his kindred', and wo to his cause', 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws'; 
When her bojaneted d chieftains to victory crowd', 
Clanronald the dauntless', and Moray the proud'; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array' 



— Lochiel', Lochiel', leware of the day'! 

For', dark and despairing', my sight J may seal', 

Yet man cannot cover what God would reveaV: 

'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore', 

And coming events cast their shadows before'. 

I tell thee', Culloden's dread echoes shall ring' 

With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king\ 

Lo'! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath', 

Behold' . . . where he flies on his desolate path'! 

Now' in darkness and billows', he sweeps from my sight': 

Rise'! Rise\' ye wild tempests', and cover his flight'! — 

'Tis finished'. — Their thunders are hushed on the moors '; 

Culloden is lost', and my country deplores'; 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner'? Where' 1 ? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair'. 

Say', mounts he the ocean-wave', banished', forlorn', 

Like a limb from his country east bleeding and torn'? 

'IMilnt'in— not, md&ntrc. l &'re. c h: d B6n'nit-ed— not, bwn'nlt-fid 



/hap. III. gray's elegy. 26! 

Ah'! no': for a darker departure is near'; 

The war-drum is muffled', and black is the bier"; 

His death-bell is tolling 1 ; oh'! mercy dispel' 

Yon sight', that it freezes my spirits to tell'! 

Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs', 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims 1 . 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet', 

Where his heart shall be thrown', ere a it ceases to beat', 

With the smoke* of its ashes to poison the gale' 



— Down', soothless insulter'! I trust not the tale': 

For never shall Albin a destiny meet' 

So black with dishonour' — so foul with retreat'. 

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed b in their gore' 

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore', 

LochieV, untainted by flight or by chains', 

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains', 

Shall victor exult', or in death be laid low', 

With his back to the field', and his feet to the foe'! 

And', leaving in battle no blot on his name', 

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame'. 



SECTION XXIV. 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. — Gray. 

The curfew tolls', the knell of parting day'; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea'; 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way', 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me'. 

Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight', 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds'; 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight', 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds': 

Save', that from yonder ivy-mantled tower', 
The moping owl does to the moon complain' 

Of such as', wand'ring near her secret bower', 
Molest her ancient', solitary reign'. 

Beneath these rugged elms' — that yew-tree's shade', 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap', 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid', 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet'. . . sleep'. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn', 

The swallow', twitt'ring from the straw-built shed , 

The cock's shrill clarion', or the echoing horn', 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed'. 

a are. 'Strode 



282 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn', 

Or busy housewife 1 ply her evening care'; 
Nor children 1, run to lisp their sire's return', 

Or climb his knees', the envied kiss to share\ 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield 1 ; 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke'; 
How jocund did they drive their team a-field'! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke" 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil', 

Their homely joys and destiny obscure'; 
Nor grandeur hear', with a disdainful smile', 

The short and simple annals of the poor\ 

The boast of heraldry", the pomp of power\ 

And all that beauty", all that wea. 
Await', alike', the inevitable hour'; 

The paths of glory lead' . . . but to the grave\ 

Nor you', ye proud', impute to these the fault', 
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies e raise', 

Where', through the long-drawn aisle f and fretted vault', 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise v 

Can storied urn', or animated bust', 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath'? 
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust', 

Or flattery sooth the dull', cold ear of death'? 

Perhaps' . . in this neglected spot' . . is laid' 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire y ; 

Hands' . . that the rod of empire might have swayed', 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre": 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page', 
Rich with the spoils of time', didtfie'er& unroP; 

Chill penury repressed their noble rage', 
And froze the genial current of the soul'. 

Full many a gem' . . of purest ray serene', 

The dark', unfathomed caves of ocean bear'; 
Full many a flower' . . is born to blush unseen', 

And waste its sweetness' . . on the desert air'. 

Some village Hampden\ that', with dauntless breast', 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood'; — 
Some mute', inglorious Milton\ here may rest 1 ; 

Some Cromwell", guiltless of his country's blood*. 

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command', 

The threats of pain and rum to despise', 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land', 

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes', 

a lluz'wif. 'Tshll'dren— not, tslnl'dran. c J6k'und. d ire. ' IrA't f? 
lie. eN&re 



Chap. III. GRAY S ELEGY. if 5 

Their lot forbade";* nor circumscribed alone' 

Their growing virtues', but their crimes confined 1 ' 

Forbade 1 to wade through slaughter to a throne', 
And shut the gates oi" mercy on mankind 1 : 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide', 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame"; 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride, 

With incense kindled at the muse's flame\ 

Far from the madd'ning crowd's ignoble strife', 

Their sober wishes never learned to stray'; — 
Along the cool', sequestered vale of life', 

They kept the noiseless tenour of their way'. 

Y3t even these bones', from insult to protect , 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh', 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 15 decked' 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh'. 

Their name", their years', spelled by th' unlettered muse, 

The place of fa trie and elegy supply"; 
And many a holy text around she strews', 

That teach* the rustick moralist to die". 

For who', to dumb forgetfulness a prey', 

This pleasing', anxious being e'er' 1 resigned'; 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day', 

Nor cast one longing', ling'ring look behind 1 ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies 1 : 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires'; 
Even from the tomb the voice of nature- cries', 

Even in our ashes live their wonted Jires\ 

For thee', who', mindful of the unhonoured dead', 

Dost f in these lines their artless tale relate', 
If chance', by lonely contemplation led', 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate'; 

Haply some hoary-he;ided swain may say', 

"Oft have we seen him vt the peep of dawn', 
Brushing with hasty step the dews away', 

To meet the sun upon tiie upland lawn 1 . 

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech', 
That wreathes its old fantastick roots so high', 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch', 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by'. 

*F6r-bad'. b Sku.lp'tshure — not, skulp'tshur. c Str6ze. d &re. «.N4 
tenure. f Du.st. 

♦Teaches, grammatically 



^{J4 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Hard by yon wood', now smiling', as in scorn', 
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove': 

Now drooping', woi'u!', wan', like one forlorn', 
Or crazed with care', or crossed in hopeless love'. 

One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill', 
Along the heath', and near his fav'rite* tree'; 

Another came'; nor yet beside the rill', 

Nor up the lawn", nor at the wood' . . was he'. 

The next', with dirges due', in sad array', 

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne'; 

Approach and read' (for thou canst read') the lay', 
'Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn'." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth', 
A youth to fortune', 1 ' and to fame unknoion"; 

Fair science frowned not on his humble 4 birth', 
And melancholy marked him for her own\ 

Large was his bounty', and his soul', sincere": 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send'. 

He gave to misery all he had' — a tear", 

He gained from heaven' ('twas all he wished') a friend" 

No farther seek his merits to disclose', 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode'; 

(There they', alike', in trembling hope repose';) 
The bosom of his Father and his God'. 



SECTION XXV. 

Stanzas. — Dr. Percival. 

My heart was a mirror, that showed every treasure e 
Of beauty and loveliness life can displajr ; 
It reflected each beautiful blossom of pleasure/ 
But turned from the dark looks of bigots away ; 
It was living and moving with loveliest of creatures, 
In smiles or in tears as the soft spirits chose ; 
Now, shining with brightest and ruddiest features, 
Now, pale as the snow of the dwarf mountain rose. 

But the winds and the storms broke the mirror, and severed 
Full many a beautiful angel in twain ; 
And the tempest raged on till the fragments were shivered, 
And scattered, like dust that rolls over the plain : 

*Fi'vu.r-it. b F6r'tshune — not, tshtin. c Si'ense — not, sl'wnse. d T'm'bl 
•Trezh'u.re. f Plezh'u.re — not, plezh'er. 



Chap. III. STANZAS BY PERCIVAL. 205 

One piece which the storm in its madness neglected, 
Away on the wings of the whirlwind to bear, 
One fragment was left, and that fragment reflected 
All the beauty that Mary threw carelessly there. 



Our Eagle shall rise 'mid the whirlwinds of war, 
And dart through the dun cloud of battle his eye ; — 
Shall spread his wide wings o'er the tempest afar, 
O'er spirits of valour that conquer or die. 
And ne'er a shall the rage of the conflict be o'er, 
And ne'er a shall the warm blood of life cease to flow, 
And still 'mid the smoke of the battle shall soar 
Our Eagle — till scattered and fled be the foe : 
When peace shall disarm war's dark brow of its frowHj 
And roses shall bloom on the soldier's rude grave, 
Then honour shall weave of the laurel a crown 
That beauty shall bind on the brow of the brava, 



CHAPTER IV. 



PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 

SECTION I. 
Dedications.— -Lord Bacon. 

The dedication of books to patrons'/ in this age', is not to 
be commended** for such books as are worthy of the name', 
ought to have no patrons a but truth and reason'. The ancient* 
custom was', to dedicate them only to private and equal 
friends', or to entitle them with a friend's name" ; or', if dedi- 
cated to kings or great personages, it was to those only to 
whose talents and taste the argument of the work was pecu- 
liarly suited'. 

I would not be understood', however', as condemning the 
applications of the learned to men of fortune', when the occa- 
sion renders it proper and expedient' '. The answer of Dio- 
genes' 1 was just\ who', when asked', tauntingly'. How it 
came to pass that philosophers* were the followers of rich 
men, and not rich men, of philosophers '," e replied', soberly', 
and yet', sharply', "Because philosophers 6 know what they 
need'; but rich men do not\" 

Equally pointed was the following reply of Aristippus'. On 
presenting a petition to Dionysius without being able to gain his 
attention', he fell down at his feet'; whereupon Dionysius was 
prevailed on to give him a hearing', and to grant his request'. 
But afterward', some one over-sensitive for the reputation of 
philosophy', reproved Aristippus for having offered so great an 
indignity to his profession ', as for a philosopher to fall at a 
tyrant's fee f: — to whom Aristippus replied', "It is not r\y 
fault', sir', but the fault of Dionysius , that he has his ears in 
his feet'." Nor was it accounted iceafoiess', but discretion' , 
in him who excused himself for not disputing a point with 
Adrianus Cesar', by saying', " It is the dictate of reason to 
yield thy argument to one who commands thirty legions'." 

a Pi'trunz. l &ne'tsh£nt — not, an'shunt. c Lern'£d. d Dl-6j'& nftze. 
eF^lds'd'furz. 



Chap. IV. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 26? 

These and the like instances of yielding to the force of cir 
cwnstances ', and of stooping to points of necessity and conve- 
nience, are to be accounted submissions', not to the person , 
but to the occasion'. 



SECTION II. 
Reflections on Westminster Abbey. — Addisox. 

When I am in a serious humour', I very often walk by my. 
self in Westminster Abbey"; where the gloominess of the place', 
and the use to which it is applied', together with the solemnity 
of the building', and the condition of the people who lie in it', 
are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy', or', rather', 
thoughtfulness', that is not disagreeable'. Yesterday I passed 
a whole afternoon in the church-yard', the cloisters', and the 
church', amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions 
which I met with in those several regions of the dead'. Most 
of them record nothing else of the buried person', but that he 
was born on one day', and died on another'; two circumstances 
that are common to all mankind'. I could not but look upon 
those registers of existence', * whether of brass or marble', as a 
kind of satire upon the departed persons', who had left no other 
memorial of themselves', than', that they were born', and that 
they died'. 

Upon my going into the church', I entertained myself with 
the digging of a grave', and saw', in every shovelful of it that 
was thrown up', the fragment of a bone or scull', intermixed 
with a kind of fresh', mouldering earth', which', some time or 
other', had held a place in the composition of a human body'. 
Upon this', I began to consider with myself, Avhat innumerable 
multitudes of ]>eople lay confused together under the pavement b 
of that ancient" cathedral'; how men and women', friends' and 
enemies', priests' and soldiers', monks' and prebendaries', were 
crumbled amons one another', and blended together in the same 
common mass'; — how beauty', strength', and youth', with old 
age', weakness', and deformity', lay undistinguished in the same 
promiscuous heap of matter'! 

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality', 
as it were', d in the lump', I examined it more particularly by 
the accounts which I found on several of the monuments', 6 

a Eg-zist'£nse — not, unse. l P&ve'm£nt. c &ne'tsh£nt — not, an' shunt. 
J Wer e M6n'n-m£nts — not, munts. 



268 SELECTIONS IJV PROSE. 

which are raised in every quarter of that ancient* fabrick'. 
Some of them are covered with such extravagant epitaphs', 
that', if it were 1 ' possible for the dead person to be acquainted 
with them', he would blush at the praise which his friends have 
bestowed upon him'. There are others so excessively modest', 
that they deliver the character of the departed person in Greek 
or Hebrew', and', by that means', are not understood once in a 
twelvemonth'. In the poetical quarter', I found there were b 
poets who had no monuments', and monuments that had no 
poets'. I observed', indeed', that the present war had filled the 
church with many of those uninhabited monuments', which had 
been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies we re', b per- 
haps', buried in the plains of Blenheim', or in the bosom of the 
ocean'. 

I could not but be very much delighted with several modern 
epitaphs', which are written with great elegance of expression 
and justness of thought', and which', therefore', do honour to 
the living as well as to the dead'. As a foreigner is very apt 
to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation', 
from the turn of its publick monuments and inscriptions', these 
should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and ge- 
nius', before they are put into execution'. Sir Cloudsly Shovel's 
monument has very often given me great displeasure 1 . Instead 
of the brave', rough', English admiral', which was the distin- 
guishing characteristick of that plain', gallant man',rie is repre- 
sented', on his tomb', by the figure of a beau', dressed in a long 
periwig', and reposing himself upon velvet cushions', under a 
canopy of state'. The inscription is answerable to the monu- 
ment'; for', instead of celebrating the many remarkable actions 
which he had performed in the service of his country', it ac 
quaints us only with the manner of his death', in which it was 
impossible for him to reap any honour'. The Dutch', whom 
we are apt to despise for want of genius', show an infinitely 
better taste in their buildings and works of this nature', d than 
we meet with in those of our own country'. The monuments 
of their admirals', which have been erected at the publick ex- 
pense', represent them like themselves', and are adorned with 
rostral crowns and naval ornaments', 6 with beautiful festoons of 
seaweed', shells', and coral'. 

I know that entertainments f of this nature d are apt to raise 
dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imagi- 
nations'; but', for my own part', though I am always serious', 

a &ne'tsh£nt — not, S.n' shunt 'WSr. r M6n'u-m§nts — not, munts. d N&' 
t:ih&re. c Gr'na , m&nts — not, rmtnts. f En-t£r-t<Lne'm£nts. 



Cliap. IV. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 269 

I do not know what it is to be melancholy', ana can , tnerefore',' 
take a view of nature' in her deep and solemn scenes', with the 
same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones'. By this 
means', I can improve myself with objects which others consider 
with terrour'. When I look upon the tombs of the great', every 
emotion of envy dies within me'; when I read the epitaphs of 
the beautiful', every inordinate desire goes out'; when I meet 
with the grief of parents^ upon a tombstone', my heart melts 
with compassion'; when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
selves', I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we 
must quickly follow'. When I see kings lying by those who 
deposed them'; — when I consider rival wits placed side by side', 
or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and 
disputes'; I reflect', with sorrow and astonishment', on the little 
competitions', factions', and debates of mankind'. When I read 
the several dates of the tombs', of some that died yesterday', 
and some six hundred years ago', I consider that great day when 
we shall all of us be cotemporaries', and make our appearance 
together*. 



SECTION III. 
Refections on Westminster Abbey — Extract. — Irving. 

I sat', for some time', lost in that kind of revery which a 
strain of musick is apt', at times', to inspire'. The shadows 
of evening were gradually thickening around me'; the monu- 
ments began to cast deeper and deeper gloom'; and the distant 
clock again d gave token of the slowly waning day'. 

I rose', and prepared to leave the abbey'. As I descended 
the flight of steps which lead into the body of the building', my 
eye was caught by the shrine of Edward the Confessor'; and I 
ascended the small staircase that conducts to it', to take from 
thence a general survey of this wilderness of tombs'. The 
shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform'; and close around 
it are the sepulchres of various kings and queens'. From this 
eminence', the eye looks down between pillars and funeral tro- 
phies e to the chapels and chambers below', crowded with tombs', 
where warriours', prelates', courtiers', and statesmen'/ lie 
mouldering in " their beds of darkness'." Close by me stood 
the great chair of coronation', rudely carved of oak', in the bar- 

Ti^r'f6re. l N5.'tsLare. c P£'rents — not, parents. d A-g£ti'. e Tr&'« 
fk. States'm£n. 
23* 



270 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

barous taste of a remote and gothick age'. The scene seemed 
almost as if contrived', with theatrical artifice', to produce an 
effect upon the beholder'. Here was a type of the beginning 
and the end of human pomp and power'; here it was literally 
but a step from the throne to the sepulchre'. a Would not orfe 
think', that these incongruous mementoes had been gathered to- 
gether as a lesson to living greatness'? — to show it', even in 
the moment b of its proudest exaltation', the neglect and dishon- 
our to which it must soon arrive'? — how soon that crown which 
encircles its brow', must pass away'; and how soon it must lie 
down in the dust and disgraces of the tomb', and be trampled 
upon by the feet of the meanest of the multitude'? For', strange 
to tell', even the grave is here no longer a sanctuary*. There 
is a shocking levity in some natures', which leads them to sport 
with awful and hallowed things*; and there are base minus'', 
which delight to revenge on the illustrious dead', the abject 
homage and grovelling d servility which they pay to the living*. 
The coffin of Edward the Confessor has been broken open', and 
his remains despoiled of their funeral ornaments*; 6 the sceptre 
has been stolen from the hand of the imperious Elizabeth', and 
the effigy of Henry the Fifth lies headless*. Not a royal mon- 
ument but bears some proof how false and fugitive is the hom- 
age of mankind\ Some are plundered* ; some', mutilated' ; 
some', covered "with ribaldry and insula ; — all', more or less', 
outraged and dishonoured* ! 

The last beams of day were now faintly streaming through 
the painted windows in the high vaults above me* : the lower 
parts of the abbey were already wrapped in the obscurity of 
twilight*. The chapels and aisles' grew darker and darker*. 
The effigies of the kings faded into shadows* ; the marble fig- 
ures s of the monuments assumed strange shapes in the uncer- 
tain light* ; the evening breeze crept through the aisles f like the 
cold breath of the grave' ; and even the distant foot-fall of a 
verger', traversing the Poet's Corner', had something strange 
and dreary in its sound*. I slowly retraced my morning's walk', 
and', as I passed out at the portal of the cloisters', the door', 
closing with a jarring noise behind me', filled the whole building 
with echoes'. 

I endeavoured to form some arrangement in my mind of the 
objects I had been contemplating', but found they were already 
falling into indistinctness and confusion'. Names', inscriptions', 
trophies', 11 had all become confounded in my recollection', though 

a SSp'firkur. bMd'mSnt. c H6m'&je. dGr6v'vTllng. eOr'na'm&nts- 
not. mwnts. f llze. rFlg'ttrez. h Trd'fiz. 



Chap. IV WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 271 

I had scarcely taken my foot from off the threshold'. What' 
thought I', is this vast assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury 
of humiliation'; a huge pile of reiterated homilies on the empti- 
ness of renown', and the certainty of oblivion'] It is', indeed', 
the empire of death'; his great shadowy palace', where he sits 
in state', mocking at the relicks of human glory', and spreading 
dust and forgetfulness on the monuments of princes'. How 
idle a boast', after all', is the immortality of a name'! Time is 
ever silently turning over his pages'; we are too much engrossed 
ly the story of the present', to think of the characters and 
anecdotes that gave interest to the past'; and each age is a 
volume thrown aside to be speedily forgotten'. The idol of to- 
day pushes the hero of yesterday out of our recollection'; and 
will', in turn', be supplanted by his successor of to-morrow'. 
" Our fathers'," says Sir Thomas Brown', " find their graves 
in our short memories', and sadly tell us how we may be buried 
in our survivers'." History fades into fable'; fact becomes 
clouded with doubt and controversy'; the inscription moulders 
from the tablet'; the statue falls from the pedestal'. a Columns', 
arches', pyramids', what are they but heaps of sand' — and their 
epitaphs', but characters written in the dust'1 What is the secu- 
rity of the tomb', or the perpetuity of an embalmment'? The 
remains of Alexander the Great', have been scattered to the 
wind', and his empty sarcophagus 1 ' is now the mere curiosity of 
a museum'. "The Egyptian mummies which Cambyses or 
lime hath spared', avarice now consumeth'; Mizraim cures 
wounds', and Pharaoh is sold for balsams'." 

What', then', is to ensure this pile which now towers above 
me', from sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums'^ The 
time must come when its gilded vaults', which now spring so 
loftily', shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet'; when', instead of 
the sound of melody and praise', the wind shall whistle through 
the broken arches', and the owl hoot from the shattered tower' — 
when the garish sunbeam shall break into these gloomy man- 
sions of death'; and the ivy twine round the fallen column'; and 
the foxglove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn', as if in 
mockery of the dead'. Thus man passes away'; his name 
yerishes from record and recollection'; his history is as " a tale 
that is told';" and his very monument becomes a ruin'. 

aPSd'es'tal. 'Sar-kof'fa-g&s. ~Ma-z£'um. dM&vv-s6-16'&mz. 



272 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

SECTION IV. 
On Subscribing for Books. 

[Extract from Flint's Review of Dr. Eminons' Fredoniad.] 

We are sensible', that many will think we have meddled with 
a theme which is wholly below the dignity of criticism'. We 
do not think so'. We would not', without object', wound* the 
feelings of Mr. Emmons', nor of any man'; and it is painful 
to us to say what our notion of duty compels us to say of this 
work'. We should not have named the work', had it not 
suggested to us thoughts that we deem equally true and im- 
portant', '' and remarks which we deem to be the appropriate 
award of legitimate criticism 1 . 

We know not how large an edition of this work was printed', 
but there are four volumes of it', and the expense must have 
been very considerable'. Just so much patronage will be with- 
drawn from some work of real merit'. We hear', and authors 
hear 1 , and editors hear 1 , and projectors of new works hear', 
and every literary man hears this grating and discordant 
theme': " Indeed' , sir', I cannot subscribe to your work'. I 
am tormented', by day and by night', at home and abroad', in 
the house and by the way', in church and on 'change', at fu- 
nerals and at theatres', by subscription-papers'. Here have I 
been applied to this day for my name for three new periodicals' , 
and four new books'. I am taxed beyond all enduring'. Sub- 
scription rogues'! I had rather encounter a highwayman with 
his pistols', than one of these fellows with his paper'." We 
appeal to you', my dear book-maker', if you have not heard all 
this in substance a hundred times'. You need not tell us', that 
it goes straight to your commune sensorium (common seat of 
feeling) and the medullary marrow', with the causticity of vit 
riol'. What is the inference'? " I must treat you all alike', 
or subscribe', as I am in the good or the bad fit" '; — and probably 
poet Emmons obtains your name', and a man of genius and 
talents goes away mortified and rejected'. 

Because ten thousand drivellers and fools are deserting the 
plough and the work-bench', and merging good tinkers in bad 
poets', and editors', and book-makers', shall the world go back 
to the ages of barbarism? Shall the press be suspended'? 
Will you treat all the thousand prowlers', who are dispersed 
over the country with subscription -papers', like a judgment of 

a W66nd. b Im-pdr'tant — not, twnt. 



Chap. IV. ON SUBSCRIBING FOR BOOKS. 273 

locusts', alike? We say' • • not'. We say', that literature* is 
necessary to every country that is not peopled with savages', or 
slaves'. We say', that every man owes something', in the form 
of support', to literature 1 ',' as strictly as "he does to liberty', 
education', or religion 1 . You can no more disengage yourself 
from this obligation', than from that of bestowing charity . 
Your judging and discriminating faculties were given you', to 
enable you to select from the hundred applications for your 
name in this way', those works which you ought to encourage 1 . 
You ought to make it a matter of deliberation and conscience 
to decide to' whom you ought to give', and from whom with- 
hold', your countenance and patronage 1 . If you have been 
caught purchasing forty thousand verses of trash' , shall you 
crush the spirit of modest and ingenuous talent by neglect'? 
If your lady has been taken in with pit-coal indigo , is it good 
reason', that she should', therefore', forever after refuse to pur- 
chase the real die? 

We hold the common objection', "lam tormented to death 
with subscriptions','' to amount', in substance',* 1 to this admis- 
sion': " I have, a poor head", and', withal', am a good deal of a 
GotJi, and care very little about literature'/ or any thing that 
causes man to differ from the brute 1 . I know of no difference 
between poet Emmons' , and Bryant, or even Milton'. I am 
told that there are o-ee.se and swans'; but', being of the former 
breed myself, I take all fowls to belong to my class 1 , and all 
works that ask subscription', to be on the same footing'." 

This is not the language of a patriot', 6 a scholar', or a gen- 
tleman 1 . A thousand ask patronage', and a thousand ask 
charity' ; and there are deserving and tmdeserving objects in 
each class 1 . It is a duty', that you should exercise your Jiest 
judgment in making the proper discrhnination' . 

There is that in the preface of the Fredoniad', which', at the 
first look', disarms criticism', and inspires pity 1 . But a weak', 
undistinguishing pity', founded on animal tenderness and good 
nature', is neither a rational 1 nor a benevolent sentiment 1 . True 
benevolence is wise in its views 1 . This gentleman says', he 
was cautioned against writing these verses 1 , and found no en- 
couragement except from one man 1 . Why did he not heed the 
caution 1 ? Instead of furnishing the community with an argu- 
ment= against yielding its aid to literary efforts', he might have 
administered pills 1 , or cut down trees', or made chimneys', and 
in a thousand ways have been usefully', and cheerfully 1 , and 

aLit'&r'a-ture. L T66 — not, to. c TR-£r'fdre. d Sub'stanse — not, stunse. 
«Pa'trS'ut. f Rash'un'al. sAr'guWnt. 



274 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

gainfully', and honourably employed'. If men will mistalu. 
their powers', and interpret a six years' morbid excitement of a 
weak brain', for the visitings of the muse' , and', in consequence', 
go on to blot and spoil such an immense amount of clean paper 
with the expensive characters of the press', who can help it'? 
They may', perhaps', deserve pity' ; but duty requires', that 
their example be held up as a warning to others'. 



SECTION V. 
On Natural and Fantastical Pleasures. — Guardian. 

It is of great use to consider the pleasures which constitute 
human happiness, as they are distinguished into Natural and 
Fantastical. Natural Pleasures I call those which, not depend- 
ing on the fashion and caprice a of any particular age or nation, 
are suited to human nature in general, and were intended, by 
Providence, as rewards for using our faculties agreeably to the 
ends for which they are given us. Fantastical. Pleasures are 
those which, having no natural fitness to delight our minds, 
presuppose some particular whim or taste, accidentally prevail- 
ing in a set of people, to which it is owing that they please. 

Now I take it, that the tranquillity and cheerfulness with 
which I have passed my life, are the effects of having, ever 
since I came to years of discretion, confined my inclinations 
to the former sort of pleasures. But, as my experience 1 ' can be 
a rule only to my own actions, it may probably be a stronger 
motive to induce others to the same scheme of life, if they 
w T ould consider that we are prompted to natural pleasures, by 
an instinct impressed on our minds by the Author of our na- 
ture, who best understands our frames, and, consequently, best 
knows what those pleasures are which will give us the least 
uneasiness in the pursuit, and the greatest satisfaction in the 
enjoyment d of them. Hence it follows, that the objects of our 
natural desires are cheap, and easy to be obtained ; it being a 
maxim that holds throughout the whole system of created be- 
ings, " that nothing is made in vain," much less the instincts 
and appetites of animals, which the benevolence, 6 as well as the 
wisdom, of the Deity, is concerned to provide for. Nor is the 
fruition of those objects less pleasing, than the acquisition is 
easy : and the pleasure is heightened by the sense of having 

a Ka-pre£se\ 'Eks-pe'r£-£nse — not, wnse. c N3/tshftre. d ^n-j65'mSnt 
e "B£-n£v'6 , lense — not. lwnse. 



Chap. IV. NATURAL AND FANTASTICAL PLEASURES. 275 

answered some natural end, and the consciousness of acting 
in concert with the Supreme Governour of the Universe. 

Under natural pleasures, I comprehend those which are uni- 
versally suited, as well to the rational, as the sensual, part of 
our nature. And of the pleasures which affect our senses, 
those only are to be deemed natural , that are contained within 
the rules of reason, which is allowed to be as necessary an in- 
gredient of human nature, as sense. And, indeed, excesses of 
any kind, are hardly to be considered pleasures, much less 
natural pleasures. 

It is evident that a desire terminated in money, is fantastical. 
So is the desire of outward distinctions, which bring no delight 
of sense, nor recommend us as useful to mankind ; and, also, 
the desire of things merely because they are new or foreign. 
Men who are indisposed to a due exertion of their higher facul- 
ties, are driven to such pursuits as these, from the restlessness 
of the mind, and the sensitive appetites' being easily satisfied. 
It is, in some sort, owing to the bounty of Providence, that, dis- 
daining a cheap and vulgar happiness, they frame to themselves 
imaginary goods, in which there is nothing that can raise de- 
sire, but the difficulty of obtaining them. Thus, men become 
the contrivers of their own misery, as a punishment to them- 
selves, for departing from the measures of nature. Having, by 
a habitual reflection on these truths, made them familiar, the 
eifect is, that I, among a number of persons who have de- 
bauched their natural taste, see things in a peculiar light, which 
I have arrived at, not by any uncommon force of genius, or 
acquired knowledge, but only by unlearning the false notions 
instilled by custom and education. 

The various objects that compose the world, were, by nature, 
formed to delight our senses ; and, as it is this only that makes 
them desirable to an uncorrupted taste, a man may be said 
naturally to possess them, when he possesses those enjoyments 
which they are fitted by nature to yield. Hence, it is usual 
with me to consider myself as having a natural property in 
every object that administers pleasure* to me. When I am in 
the country, all the fine seats near the place of my residence, 
and to which I have access, I regard as mine. The same I 
think of the groves and fields where I walk, and muse on the 
-folly of the civil landlord in London, who has the fantastical 
pleasure* of draining dry rent into his coffers, but is a stranger 
to the fresh air and rural enjoyments. By these principles, 1 
am possessed of half a dozen of the finest seats in England. 

a Pl£zh'ure. 



276 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

which, in the eye of the law, belong to certain of my acquaint- 
ances, who, being men of business, choose to live near the 
court. 

In some great families, where I choose to pass my time, a 
stranger would be apt to rank me with the domesticks ; but, in 
my own thoughts and natural judgment,* I am master of the 
house, and he who goes by that name, is my steward, who 
eases me of the care of providing for myself the conveniences 
ftnd pleasures of life. 

When I walk the streets, I use the foregoing natural maxim, 
namely : ' That he is the true possessor of a thing, who enjoys 
it, and not he that owns it without the enjoyment of it ;' and to 
convince myself that I have a property in the gay part of all 
the gilt chariots that I meet, which 1 regard as amusements' 5 
designed to delight my eyes, and the imagination of those kind 
people who sit in them, gayly attired, only to please me, I find 
that I have a real, they only an imaginary, pleasure, from 
their exterior embellishments. Upon the same principle, I have 
discovered that I am the natural proprietor of all the diamond 
necklaces, the crosses, stars, brocades, and embroidered clothes 
which I see at a play or a birthnight, as they give more natural 
delight to the spectator, than to those that wear them. And I 
look on the beaus and ladies as so many paroquets in an aviary, 
or tulips in a garden, designed purely for my diversion. A 
gallery of pictures, a cabinet, or a library, that I have free ac- 
cess to, I think my own. In a word, all that I desire, is the 
use of things, let who will have the keeping of them ; by which 
maxim I am grown one of the richest men in Great Britain ; 
with this difference — that I am not a prey to my own cares, or 
the envy of others. 

The same principles I find of great use in my private econ- 
omy. As I cannot go to the price of history painting, I have 
purchased, at easy rates, several beautifully designed pieces o r 
landscape and perspective, which are much more pleasing to a 
natural taste, than unknown faces of Dutch gambols, though 
done by the best masters. My couches, beds, and window-cur- 
tains, are of Irish stuff, which those of that nation work very 
fine, and with a delightful mixture of colours. There is not a 
piece of china in my house ; but I have glasses of all sorts, and 
some tinged with the finest colours ; which are not the less 
pleasing because they are domestick, and cheaper than foreign 
toys. Every thing is neat, entire, and clean, and fitted to the 
taste of one who would rather he happy, than be thought rich, 

a Jadj'm£nt — not, munt. b Ami l ize'm§nts. c Pl£zh'are. 



Chap. IV. THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 27? 

Every day, numberless innocent* and natural gratifications 
occur to me, while I behold my fellow-creatures labouring in a 
toilsome and absurd pursuit of trifles : one, that he may be 
called by a particular' appellation ; another, that he may wear 
a particular' ornament, which I regard as a piece of riband, that 
has an agreeable effect on my sight, but is so far from supply- 
ing the place of merit, where merit is not, that it serves only to 
make the icant of it more conspicuous. Fair weather is the 
joy of my soul. About noon, I behold a blue sky with rap- 
ture, and receive great consolation from the rosy dashes of 
light which adorn the clouds both morning and evening. When 
I am lost among the green trees, I do not envy a great man, 
with a great crowd at his levee. And I often lay aside thoughts 
of going to an opera, that I may enjoy the silent pleasure of 
walking by moonlight, or viewing the stars sparkling in their 
azure ground ; which I look upon as part of my possessions, 
not without a secret indignation at the tastelessness of mortal 
men, who, in their race through life, overlook the real enjoy- 
ments of it. 

But the pleasure which naturally affects a human mind with 
the most lively and transporting touches, I take to be the sense 
that we act in the eye of infinite wisdom, power, and goodness, 
that will crown our virtuous endeavours here, with a happiness 
hereafter, large as our desires, and lasting as our immortal 
souls. This is a perpetual spring of gladness in the mind. This 
lessens our calamities, and doubles our joys. Without this, 
the highest state of life is insipid ; and with it, tho lowest is a 
paradise. 



SECTION VI. 
Thoughts on Death. — Loed Bacon. 

I have often thought upon death'; and I find it the least o 
all evils'. All that is past', is as a dream'; and he that hopes 
or depends upon time to come , dreams awake". As much of 
our life as we have already discovered' , is already dead'. All 
those hours which we enjoy', even from the breasts of our 
mother until we return to our grandmother the earth', are our 
dying days'; for we die daily': and as others have given place 
to us', so must we', in the end', give way to others'. 

I know many icise men who fear to die'; for the change is 

a In'nd'sent — not, sunt. 'Par-tlk'iVlar — not, par-tik'uZ-u.r. «ft'zhftre. 
24 



278 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

bitter\ and flesh is loath a to prove it': besides', the expectation 
of it brings terrour'; and that exceeds the evil'. I do not be- 
lieve that any man fears to be dead'. He fears only the stroke 
of death'. I cherish the hope', that if Heaven be pleased to 
renew my lease but for twenty -one years more', I shall then , 
without asking longer life', be strong enough to acknowledge', 
without mourning', that I was born a. mortal'. 

Why should man be in love with his fetters', though of 
gold'? Art thou drowned in security'? Then thou art per- 
fectly dead,'; for though thou movest' , yet thy soul is buried 
within thee', and thy good angel either forsakes his guard', or 
sleeps'. There is nothing under the heaven', save a true 
friend', unto which my heart leans'. Religious freedom hath 
begotten me this peace', that I mourn not for that end which 
must be'; nor do I spend one wish to have one minute 1 ' added 
to the uncertain date of my years'. 

Were we to observe even the heathen maxim', " memento 
mori'" (" remember death',") we should not become benighted 
with this seeming', earthly felicity'; but enjoy it as those pre- 
pared to give it up at the bidding of the great Donor', and not 
intwine our thoughts and affections around so perishing a for- 
tuneV How can any one but the votary of pleasure', be un- 
ready to quit the veil and false visage of his mortal perfection"? 
The soul', when she has shaken off her flesh', will set up', or', 
rather', be set up', for herself'. The souls of idiots are doubt- 
less composed of the same materials as those of statesmen' . d 
Now and then nature is at fault', being thwarted in her opera 
tions'; and this goodly guest of ours takes lodgment 6 in an im- 
perfect body', and is thus prevented from displaying her won- 
ders': like an excellent musician', who cannot perform well on 
a defective instrument'. 

But see how I am swerved', and thrown out of my course , 
by touching upon the soul', which', of all things', has the least 
to do with death'. His style is the end of all flesh', and the 
opening to incorruption'. This ruler of monuments' leads his 
victims', for the most part', out of this world with their heels 
forward', thereby giving token that his course is contrary to 
life'. 

Men enter headlong upon the wretched theatre of life', where 
their first act opens in the language of mourning'. I cannot 
more fitly compare man to any thing than to the Indian Jig- 
tree', which', having attained its full height' , s is said to decline 

»L6th. ''Minlt. c F6r'tsh&ne. dst&tes'm£n. *L6dj'm£nt. r M6n'd 
m&nts— not, mwnts. sHite. 



Chap. IV. THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 279 

its branches down to the earth'; and there', by a new concep- 
tion', they form new roots', and send up a fresh stock'. So'. 
man', having sprung originally from the earth', passes his tem- 
poral life like a plant', sustaining himself and growing vigorous 
by nourishment drawn from the earth', until made ripe for 
death', he tends downwards', and is sown again in his mother 
earth', where he perishes not', but expects a quickening'. Thus 
we see', that death deprives us not of existence',* but merely 
subjects us to a change'. 

Death finds not a worse friend than an alderman', to whose 
door I never knew him welcome'. But he is an importunate 
guest', and will not be said nay' . Even though the master of 
the house himself should affirm that he is not within , yet his 
answ r er will not be taken'. What heightens his fear is', he 
knows he is in danger of forfeiting his flesh', not being pre- 
pared for the payment day': and the sickly uncertainty with 
which he is to step out of the world', quite unfurnished for his 
general account', makes him desire to retain his gravity and 
place', and prepare his soul to answer in scarlet'. 

I gather', that death is disagreeable to most men', because 
they die intestate': for there is a prevailing superstition among 
them', that', when their will is made', they are nearer the grave 
than before'. Now they think to scare destiny', from which 
there is no appeal', by not making a will'; and endeavour to 
lengthen life , by a protestation of their umcilliugness to die'. 
They who are well-seated in this world', whose fortune looks 
towa?-ds them with a smile', are willing to anchor at its side', 
and desire to put the evil day far off', and to postpone the un- 
grateful time of their exit'. No'; these are not the men who 
have bespoken death'. By their looks' , they appear not to en- 
tertain a thought of him'. 

Death arrives graciously only to such as sit in darkness', or 
lie heavily burdened with grief and irons': — To the poor Chris- 
tian', that sits tound in the galley'; to despairing widoics', 
pensive prisoners' , and deposed kings': — to them whose for- 
tune* runs back', and whose spirit mutinies'. To such', death 
is a redeemer', and the grave a place of desired rest' These 
wait upon the shore', and beckon death to draw near', wishing', 
above all things', to see his star' , and be led to his place' 
wooing the remorseless sisters', to draw out the thread of thei 
life', and break it off before their hour'. 

But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer', and fate untime- 
ly cuts his thread'. Death is never mentioned by him', except 

a Eg-zlst'Snse — not, unse. l F6r'tshftne — not, fdr'tsh&n. 



280 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

when rumours of war and civil tumult remmd him of his 
grim approach 1 . When many hands are armed', and the peace 
of the city is in disorder', and the foot of the common sol-die? 
sounds an alarm on his stairs', then , perhaps', broken in thoughts 
of his moneys abroad', and cursing the monuments of coin in 
his house', he is willing to think of death': and', hasty of per- 
dition , will doubtless hang himself, lest his throat be cut'; pro- 
vided he may do it in his counting -room ', surrounded with his 
wealth! ', towards which his eye sends a languishing salute', even 
at the turning off'; reserving', always', that he have time and 
liberty in writing to depute himself as his own heir': for this is 
a great peace to his end', and wonderfully reconciles him upon 
the point'. 

For my part', I think that nature 11 would do me great wrong 1 ' , 
were 1, I to be as long in dying as I was in being born ; but that 
is', doubtless', not a point for me to settle 1 . In truth', no man 
knows the lists of his own patience', nor can any one divine 
how able he will be to endure suffering', till the storm comes', 
this virtue being tested only in action'. But out of a respect 
for doing the most important business well' , I would always 
keep a guard', and stand upon havingyixi^ and a good con- 
science'. If wishes could find place', I would die all together', 
and not my mind often, and my body but once' ; that is', I 
would prepare for the messenger of death', for sickness and 
affliction', and not be compelled to wait long' , or be tempted by 
the violence of pain'. Fie rein I do not profess to be a stoick' , 
and hold grief no evil', but an opinion , and a thing indifferent' . 
With Cesar', I grant that the quickest passage is the easiest'. 

There is nothing which more readily reconciles us to death', 
than a quiet conscience' , c and the belief that we shall be well 
spoken of by virtuous survivers', and enter upon a rich harvest 
of immortality'. But what is more insupportable' , than evil 
fame deserved'; or who can see worse days than he who', liv- 
ing' , is compelled to follow at the funeral of his reputation'? I 
have laid up many hopes that I shall be privileged from that 
kind of mourning'; and I wish the same privilege to extend to 
all with whom I wage love'. 

Death is our friend' ; and he that is not prepared to entertain 
him , is not at home'. Though ready for him', I do not wish to 
forestall his coming'. I wish nothing but what may better my 
lays': nor do I desire any greater place than the front of good 
opinion'. Therefore', 13 I make not love to the continuance of 

a Ni'tshure — not, n&'tshur. b Wer. 'Kdn'shense — not, shunse, d fHlr' 
fore. 



Chap. IV. THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 281 

days'; but to the goodness of them 1 . Nor do I wish to die' z 
but refer myself to my hour which the great Dispenser of all 
things has appointed me : yet', as I am frail' ' , and have suffer- 
ed for my first fault', were 1 it given me to choose', I should not 
be anxious to see the evening of my days', that extremity being 
a disease of itself, a return to mere infancy'." Hence , if 
perpetuity of life were' offered me', I should concur with the 
Greek poet' , who said', that' " Such an age would be a mortal 
evil'." 

Men fear death', as children fear to go in the dark' ; and as 
that natural fear in children is increased by tales' , so is the 
other'. Certainly', the contemplation of death', as the wages 
of sin, and the passage to another world! , is holy and reli- 
gious ; but the fear of it', as a tribute due to nature', is weak'. 
In religious meditations', there is sometimes a mixture of vanity 
and superstition' . In some of the friars' books on mortifica- 
tion', you are directed to reflect upon the pain you would expe- 
rience', if only one of your finger s^ ends were pressed or tor- 
tured 1 , and thus imagine w T hat the pains of death are when the 
whole body is corrupted and dissolved 1 ; and yet', death often 
passes with less pain than is felt in the torture of a limb'; for 
the most vital parts are not always the most sensitive'. By him 
who spoke only as a philosopher and a natural man', it was 
well said', " Pompa mortis magis terret quam mors ipsa'," 
(" The pageantry of death terrifies more than death itself'.") 

It is worthy of remark', that there is no passion in the mind 
of man so weak' , but it masters the fear of death 1 . Revenge'. . 
triumphs over death'; love'. . slights it 1 ; honour'. . aspires to it 1 ; 
nay 1 , we read that on the death of Otho the emperour', who 
slew himself, pity', the tenderest of all passions', incited many 
to die out of mere compassion for their sovereign 1 . It is no less 
worthy of our attention', to observe how little alteration is made 
upon good spirits by the approaches of death 1 ; for they seem to 
be the same to the last moment'. Augustus Cesar died in a 
compliment': " Livia', remember our marriage , and live : . . . 
farewell 1 ;" Tiberius', according to Tacitus', died in dissimula- 
tion 1 : " Now his strength and body', not his dissimulation', de- 
serted him 1 ;" Vespasian', in a jest 1 : — Galba', with a magnani- 
mous sentiment': "Feri', si ex re sitpopuli Romani' ;" ("Strike', 
if it be for the good of the Roman people';") Septimus Severus', 
in despatch': u Adeste', si quidmilii restat agendum ;" ( u Has- 
ten\ if any thing remains to be done for me',") and the like 1 . 

It is as natural to die', as it is to be b'jrn ; and to an infant', 

a W£r. t'ln'fan'sd— not, In'fun'sS. c T6r'tshure — not, t6r'tshir. 
24* 



282 " SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

per naps the one is as painful as the other'. He that dies in an 
earnest pursuit' ', is like one that is wounded in hot blood , who', 
for the time', scarcely feels the hurt 1 . Therefore a mind bent 
upon that which is good', thereby averts the terrours of death'. 
Death opens the gate to good fame', and extinguishes envy\ 



Thus spoke the Christian philosopher'; but', on this theme', 
no philosopher ever poured forth such a sublime strain of tri- 
umphant rapture', as that uttered by the great apostle of the 
Gentiles': " I am now ready to be offered'; and the time of my 
departure is at hand'. I have fought a good fight'; I have 
finished my course ; I have kept the faith'. Henceforth there 
is laid up for me a crown of righteousness' , which the Lord' T 
the righteous Judge', will give me at- that day': and not to me 
only', but', also', unto all them that love his appearing*" 



SECTION VII. 
Ugly Women. — New Monthly Magazine. 

The ancient inhabitants of Amathus, in the island of Cy 
prus, were the most celebrated statuaries in the world, which 
profession they almost exclusively supplied with gods and god- 
desses. Every one who had a mind to be in vogue, ordered his 
deity from these fashionable artists : even Jupiter himself was 
hardly considered orthodox and worship-worthy, unless emana- 
ting from the established Pantheon of the Cypriots ; and, as to 
Juno, Venus, Minerva, and Diana, it was admitted that they had 
a peculiar knack in their manufacture ; and, it needs hardly be 
added, they drove a thriving trade in these popular goddesses. 

But this monopoly proved more favourable to the fortunes than 
to the happiness of the parties. By constantly straining above 
humanity, and aspiring to the representation of celestial beauty ; 
— by fostering the enthusiasm of their imaginations in the pur- 
suit of the beau ideal* they acquired a distaste, or, at least, an 
indifference,* for mortal attractions, and turned up their noses 
at their fair country-women, for not being Junoes or Minervas. 
Not one of them equalled the model which had been conjured 

a In-dlf'fur^nse — not, wnse. 

♦Imaginary excellence 



Chap. IV. UGLY WOMEN. 283 

up in their imaginations, and not one of them, consequent! ) r , 
would they deign to notice. At the publick games, ihe women 
were all huddled together, whispering and looking glum, while 
the men congregated as far from them as possible, discussing 
the beau ideal. Had they been prosing upon politicks, you 
might have presumed it an English or an American party. 
Dancing was extinct, unless the ladies chose to lead out one 
another ; the priests waxed lank and wo-begone for want of the 
marriage offerings. Hymen's altar was covered with as man* 
cobwebs as a poor's box : successive moons rose and set with- 
out a single honey-moon, and the whole island threatened to 
become an anti-nuptial colony of old bachelors and old maids. 

In this emergency, Pygmalion, the most eminent statuary of 
the place, falling in love with one of his own works, a figure 
of Diana, which happened to possess" 1 the beau ideal in perfec- 
tion, implored Venus to animate the marble ; and she, as is well 
known to every person conversant with authentick history 
immediately granted his request. So far as this couple werj 
concerned, one would have imagined that the evil was remedied ; 
but, alas ! the remedy was worse than the disease. The model 
of excellence was now among them, alive and breathing ; the 
men were perfectly mad, beleaguering the house from morn to 
night to get a peep at her ; all other women were treated with 
positive insult; and, of course, the whole female population was 
possessed by the furies. Marmorea (such was the name of the 
animated statue) was no Diana in the flesh, whatever she might 
have been in the marble ; for, if the scandalous chronicles of 
those days may be believed, she had more than one favoured 
lover. Certain it is, that she was the cause of constant feuds and 
battles, in which many lives were lost, and Pygmalion himself 
was at last found murdered in the neighbourhood of his own 
house. The whole island was now on the point of civil war, on 
account of the philanthropical Helen, when one of her disappoint- 
ed wooers, in a fit of jealousy, stabbed her to the heart, and 
mmed iately after threw himself from a high rock into the sea. 

Such is the tragedy which would probably be enacting, at the 
present 1 ' moment, in every country of the world, but for the 
fortunate circumstance, that we have no longer any fixed stand- 
ard of beauty, real or imaginary, and, by a necessary and 
happy consequence, no determinate rule of ugliness. In fact, 
there are no such animals as ugly women, though we still con- 
tinue to talk of them as we do of harpies, gorgons, and chime- 
ras. There is no deformity that does not find admirers, and no 

a P6z-zes'. b Pr£z'ent — not, wnt. c M6'm£nt — not, md'murd. 



284 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

loveliness that is not deemed defective. Anamaboo, the African 
prince, received so many attentions from a celebrated belle of 
London, that, in a moment of tenderness, he could not refrain 
from laying his hand on his heart, and exclaiming, " Ah ! 
madam, if heaven had only made you a negress, you would 
have been irresistible." And the same beauty, when travelling 
among the Swiss Cretins, heard several of the men ejaculating, 
' How handsome she is ! what a pity that she wants a Goitre"* 

Plain women were formerly so common, that they were 
termed ordinary to signify the frequency of their occurrence : 
in these happier days the phrase extraordinary* would be more 
applicable. However parsimonious, or even cruel, nature may 
have been in other respects, they all cling to admiration by 
some solitary tenure that redeems them from the unqualified 
imputation of unattractiveness. One has an eye that, like 
charity, covers a multitude of sins ; another is a female Samp- 
son, whose strength consists in her hair ; a third holds your 
affections by her teeth ; a fourth is a Cinderella, who wins 
hearts by her pretty little foot ; a fifth makes an irresistible ap- 
peal from her face to her figure,-' and so on to the end of the 
catalogue. An expressive countenance may always be claimed 
in the absence of any definite charm ; and, if even this be ques- 
tionable, the party generally contrives to get a reputation for 
great cleverness ; and, if that be too inhumanly disputed, envy 
itself must allow that she is " excessively amiable." 

Still, it must be acknowledged, that however men may differ 
as to details, they agree as to results, and crowd about an ac- 
knowledged beauty, influenced by some secret attraction of 
which they are themselves unconscious, and of which the 
source has never been duly explained. It would seem impossi- 
ble that it should originate in any sexual sympathies, since we 
feel the impulsion without carrying ourselves, even in idea, be- 
yond the pleasure of gazing, and are even sensibly affected by 
the sight of beautiful children : yet it cannot be an abstract 
admiration, for it is incontestable that neither men nor women 
are so vehemently impressed by the contemplation of beauty 
in their own, as in the opposite, sex. 

This injustice to wards' 1 our own half of humanity, might be 
assigned to a latent envy, but that the same remark applies to 
the pleasure we derive from statues, of the proportions of which 
we could hardly be jealous. Ugly statues may be left to their 
fate without any compunctious visitings of nature ; e but our 

aEks-trdr'dd'na-re. L Fig'are— not, flg'ur. cWh^m&nt-te. ^Ti'ttrdz. 
«Ni'tshare. 

* Goitre— gwalr. a large swelling upon the throat, like p w„ n 



Chap. IV UGLY WOMEN. 2S5 

conduct towards women, whom we conceive to be in a similar 
predicament,* is by no means entitled to the same indulgence. 
We shuffle away from them at parties, and sneak to the other 
end of the dinner-table, as if their features were catching ; and 
as to their falling in love, and possessing the common feelings 
of their sex, we laugh at the very idea. And yet these Parias 
of the drawing-room, generally atone, by interiour talent, for 
what they want in exteriour charms ; as if the Medusa's head 
were still destined to be carried by Minerva. 

Nature seldom lavishes her gifts upon one subject : the pea- 
cock has no voice ; the beautiful Camellia Japonica has no 
odour ; and belles, generally speaking, have no great share of 
intellect. Some visionaries amuse themselves by imagining 
that the complacency occasioned by the possession of physical 
charms, conduces to moral perfection. 



SECTION VIII. 
Ugly Women. — Continued, 

What a blessing for these unhandsome damsels, whom we 
treat still more unhandsomely by our fastidious neglect, that 
some of us are less squeamish in our tastes and more impartial 
in our attentions. Solomon proves the antiquity of the adage — 
" De gustibus nil disputandum" (" The taste is not to be dis- 
puted,") for he compares the hair of his beloved, to a flock of 
goats appearing from Mount Gilead ; and in a strain of enam- 
oured flattery, exclaims : " Thy eyes are like the fish-pools 
in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim ; thy nose like the 
tower of Lebanon, looking towards Damascus." 

Now I deem it as becoming to see a woman standing behind 
a good, roomy nose, as to contemplate a fair temple with a 
majestick portico ; but it may be questioned whether a nose like 
the tower of Lebanon, is not somewhat too elephantine, and 
bordering on the proboscis. The nez retrousse* (iw re-trod -so) 
is smart and piquant ; the button-nose, like all other diminu- 
tives, is endearing ; and even the snub absolutely has its admi- 
rers. Cupid can get over it, though it have no bridge ; and he 
jumps through a wall-eye like a harlequin. As to the latter 
feature, my taste may be singular, perhaps bad, but I confess 
that I have a penc?ianf\ for that captivating cast, sometimes in- 
"Pre-dlk'a'ment — not, munt. 

* Un nez retrousse — u.?? na -& tr66'sa, a nose that turns up. + Liking 



280 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

vidiously termed a squint. Its advantages are neither few nor 
unimportant. Like a bowl, its very bias makes it sure of hit- 
ting the jack, while it seems to be running out of the course ; 
and it has, moreover, the invaluable property of doing execu- 
tion without exciting suspicion, like the Irish guns with crooked 
barrels, made for shooting round a corner. 

Common observers admire the sun in his common state, but 
philosophers find it a thousand times more interesting 3 when 
suffering a partial eclipse ; while the lovers of the picturesque, 
are more smitten with its rising and setting, than with its meri- 
dian splendour. Such men must be enchanted with a strabis 
mus or squint, where they may behold the ball of sight, grace- 
fully emerging from the nasal east, or setting in its occidental 
depths, presenting every variety of obscuration. With regard 
to teeth, also, a very erroneous taste prevails. Nothing can be 
more stiff and barrack-like, than that uniformity of shape and 
hue which is so highly vaunted, b for the merest tyro in land- 
scape will tell us, that castellated and jagged outlines, with a 
pleasing variety of teints, are infinitely more pictorial and 
pleasing. 

Patches of bile in the face are by no means to be deprecated. 
They impart to it a rich mellow tone of autumnal colouring 
which we should in vain seek in less gifted complexions ; and I 
am most happy to vindicate the claims of a moderate beard 
upon the upper lip, which is as necessary to the perfect beauty 
of the mouth, as are the thorns and moss to a rose, or the 
leaves to a cherry, if there are any old maids still extant, 
while mysogonists are so rare, the fault must be attributable to 
themselves, and they must incur all the responsibility of their 
single blessedness. 

In the connubial lottery, ugly women possess an advantage to 
which sufficient importance has not been attached. It is a com- 
mon observation, that husband and wife frequently resemble 
each other; and many ingenious theorists, d attempting to solve 
the problem by attributing it to sympathy, contemplation of one 
another's features, congeniality of habits, modes of life, and so 
forth, have fallen into the very common errour of substituting 
the cause for the effect. This mutual likeness is the occasion, 
not the result, of marriage. Every man, like Narcissus, be- 
comes enamoured of the reflection of himself, only choosing a 
substance instead of a shadow. His love for any particular 
woman, is self-love at second-hand, vanity reflected, compound 
egotism. When he sees himself in the mirror of a female face, 

•In'tSr'fist-lng. Wkwnt'hd. c BSSrd. W'd'rlsts. 



Chap. IV. ugly woimeiv. 287 

ne exclaims : " How intelligent, how amiable, how interesting — 
how admirably adapted for a wife!" and forthwith makes his 
proposals to the personage so expressly and literally calculated 
to keep him in countenance. The uglier he is, the more need 
he has of this consolation. He forms a romantick attachment 
to the " fascinating creature with the snub nose," or the " be- 
witching girl with the roguish leer," (Anglice, squint,) without 
once suspecting that he is paying his addresses to himself, and 
playing the inamorato before a looking-glass. Take self-\o\e 
from love, and very little remains : it is taking the flame from 
Hymen's torch, and leaving the smoke. 

The same feeling extends to his progeny. He would rather 
see them resemble himself, particularly in his defects, than be 
modelled after the chubbiest cherubs or cupids that e^ver ema- 
nated from the studio of Canova. One sometimes encounters 
a man of a most unqualified hideousness, who obviously con- 
siders himself an Adonis ; and when such a one has to seek a 
congenial Venus, it is evident that her value will be in the in- 
verse ratio* of her charms. Upon this principle, ugly women 
will be converted into belles ; perfect frights will become irre- 
sistible ; and none need despair ' of conquests, if they have but 
the happiness to be sufficiently plain. 

" The best part of beauty," says Lord Bacon, " is that which 
a statue or painting cannot express." As to symmetry of form, 
and superficial grace, sculpture is exquisitively perfect ; but the 
countenance is of too subtle and intangible a character to be 
arrested by any modification of marble. Busts, especially where 
the pupil of the eye is unmarked, have the appearance of mere 
masks, and are representations of little more than blindness and 
death. Painting supplies, by colouring and shade, much that 
sculpture wants ; but, on the other hand, it is deficient in what 
its rival possesses — fidelity of superficial form. Nothing can 
compensate 11 for our inability to walk round a picture, and 
choose various points of view. Facility of production, mean- 
ness of material, and vulgarity of association, have induced us 
to look down with unmerited contempt upon those waxen busts 
in the perfumers' shops, which, as simple representations of 
female nature, have attained a perfection that positively amounts 
to the kissable. That delicacy ofteintand material, which so 
admirably adapts itself to female beauty, forms, however, but a 
milk-maidish representation of virility ; and the men have, con- 
sequently, as epicene and androgynous an aspect as if they ha^ 
just been bathing in the Salmacian fountain. 

a RA'sh6'6. v De'spire — not, dis'p&re. c P6z-z£s'£z. d K6m-pSn's£te 



288 - SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

Countenance, however, is not within the reach of any of 
these substances or combinations. It is a species of moral 
beauty, as superiour to mere charms of surface, as mind is to 
matter. It is, in fact, visible spirit — legible intellect, diffusing 
itself over the features, and enabling minds to commune with 
each other by some secret sympathy unconnected with the 
senses. The heart has a silent echo in the face, which fre- 
quently carries to us a conviction diametrically opposite to the 
audible expression of the mouth ; and we see, through the eyes, 
into the understanding of the man, long before it can commu- 
nicate with us by utterance. 

This emanation of character is the light of a soul destined to 
the skies, shining through its tegument* of clay, and irradiating 6 
the countenance, as the sun illuminates the face of nature be- 
fore it rises above the earth to commence its heavenly career. 
Of this indefinable charm, all women are alike susceptible. It 
is to them what gunpowder is to warriours ; it levels all dis- 
tinctions, and gives to the plain and the pretty, to the timid and 
the brave, an equal chance of making conquests. It is, in fine, 
one among a thousand proofs of that system of compensation, 
both physical and moral, by which a superiour Power is per- 
petually evincing his benignity ; affording to every human being 
a commensurate chance of happiness, and inculcating upon all, 
that when they turn their faces towards heaven, they should 
reflect the light from above, and be animated by one uniform 
expression of love, resignation, and gratitude. 



SECTION IX. 
PhilosopJiy of Apparitions. — Quarterly Review. 

Extract. 

Notwithstanding the eagerness with which almost all 3du- 
cated persons disclaim a belief in the supernatural,' and de- 
nounce, as a vulgar absurdity, the very notion of apparitions, 
yet there are few, even of the boldest and least credulous, who 
are not occasionally the victims of the very apprehensions which 
they deride ; and many such have been ingenuous enough to 
confess, that their skepticism receives more support from their 
pride than from their reason. 

Occupied with professional toil, or engaged with the objects 

a Teg'ftWnt. i-Ir ri'd^-ting-. 



Chap. IV. PHILOSOPHY OF APPARITIONS. 289 

of sense, and the dazzling prizes of ambition, the man of the 
world scarcely recognises 11 himself as the possessor of a spirit' 
ual nature ; in him 

" This faculty divine 
Is chained and tortured,— cabined, cribbed, confined, 
And bred in darkness;"* 

but even over this darkness the truth will sometimes shine forth, 

"The beam pour in, and time and skill will couch the blind." 

In the infinite variety of his works and ways, the Almighty 
has provided numerous means for maintaining'' a strong sense of 
the supernatural. A mind of even ordinary energy, natur- 
ally turns inward when withdrawn from its daily routine of 
thought and action ; and when placed under circumstances of 
powerful association, or, when witnessing striking phenomena 
in the natural or moral world, it readily reverts to its own 
origin and destiny, and spontaneously claims kindred with the 
spiritual. Amid the solitude of ancient grandeur, the traveller 
feels as if he were encircled by its former tenants ; — he ac- 
knowledges " the power and magick of the ruined battlement ;" 
and, "becoming a part of what has been," he recognises, in 
the sacred awe which breathes around him, the force of the re 
mark, that 

"There is given 
Unto the things of earth which time has bent, 
A spirit's feeling." 

But it is not merely by its own creations that the mind feels 
its connexions with the spiritual world. There are events and 
scenes in nature so rare in their occurrence, or so overpowering 
in their grandeur, or so terrifick in their effects, that the mind 
springs, as it were, its earthly cable, and feels itself in the im- 
mediate presence, of more exalted intelligences. Amid the dark- 
ness and crash of the thunder-storm, human courage stands 
appalled, J and we feel as if the divine ubiquity were concen- 
trated in this powerful appeal to our fears. In the still more ter- 
rifick phenomena of the earthquake, the poet has well described 

" The awe 
Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds 
Phuure into the clouds for refuge, and withdraw 
From their down-toppling nests; and bellowing herds 
Stumble o'er heaving plains ; and man's dread hath no words." 

Nor is it by material phenomena only that the mind is with- 
drawn from its earthly concerns to a due sense of its positions 

a R£k'6g'ni-z£z. b M£n-t£ne'ing-. c R66't££n. d Ap-pdlld'. 
* Byron. 

25 



290 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

and its relations. Moral events address themselves still more 
powerfully to mankind ; and through the channel of the affec- 
tions, we are often roused from a lethargy that would otherwise 
prove fatal. When domestick affliction presses its cold hand 
upon the heart, and throws a blackness over nature, material 
objects almost cease to influence us ; the mind discovers its true 
place in the scheme of infinite wisdom, and, longing to follow 
the disembodied spirit from which it has been torn ? would almost 
welcome the stroke that should effect its liberation. Such are 
some of the means by which ordinary minds are impressed with 
a serious, though unacknowledged, awe of the unseen world. 

The various phenomena of apparitions may be divided mto 
two great classes : — Those which may be seen by several per- 
sons at the same time ; — and those which are seen by only one 
person at a time. 

The first of these divisions embraces two very opposite classes 
of phenomena. While it includes the supernatural visions which 
were displayed during the Jewish theocracy, and at the estab- 
lishment of Christianity, 11 it comprehends, also, the whole sys- 
tem 1 ' of imposture which prevailed in the heathen temples. The 
extraordinary manner in which the Almighty deigned to hold 
converse with his peculiar people, and the miracles by which 
our Saviour and his disciples overpowered the incredulity of 
their hearers, were special interpositions of Providence, rendered 
for the accomplishing of the high objects of divine government. 11 
But far different from these beneficent 6 revelations, were the 
lying miracles of ancient idolatry. The sciences of the times, 
limited as they were, became, in the hands of the priest and 
the magician, the unhallowed instruments'" of imposture, with 
which to operate upon the minds of the ignorant and the credu- 
lous : and thus, the common people, unacquainted with the 
powers of nature, and the resources of art, became the willing 
victims of a base superstition. 

The principal apparitions of former times, seem to have been 
of an optical nature. The properties of lenses and concave 
mirrors, and especially that of forming images in the air which 
eluded the grasp of the observer, and possessed all the charac- 
teristicks of an incorporeal existence, were certainly known to 
the ancient magicians. Hence, it was easy to obtain from in- 
verted and highly illuminated statues and pictures, aerial repre- 
sentations of their gods and heroes, or of their departed friends 
But though such apparitions had the requisite resemblance to 

"Erl*tfth£-&n / £ , t£ Sis'tem— not, turn. e Im-p6s'tsh&re. d G&v'(irn 
m£nt. e Bc-nef'e-s£nt. f ln'striVments. 



Chap. IV. PHILOSOPHY OF APPARITIONS. 291 

their prototypes, they still wanted the appearance of real life. 
This defect, however, they were able to supply. They possessed 
the art of giving an erect position to inverted images, so that it 
was easy to exhibit* erect apparitions in the air. 

Other sources of such apparitions as may be seen by several 
persons at once, have their origin in particular functions of 
vision itself; and to the deceptions which spring from them, the 
best and the least informed are equally liable. The thousand 
and one apparitions, which, from age to age, have continued to 
terrify the young and the ignorant, have generally presented 
themselves during the hours of twilight and darkness ; at which 
hours the imagination steps in as an auxiliary 6 to physical 
causes. At such times, all objects, from the obscurity in which 
they are involved, are seen with difficulty. This obscurity of 
objects, combined with certain affections and singular changes 
wrought upon the organs of vision, powerfully contributes to 
the production of illusions in the dark. It is a curious circum- 
stance, that the spectres of this kind, are always, as they ought 
to be, white, because no other colour can be seen in the dark , 
and they are always created, either out of inanimate objects 
which reflect more light than those around them, or which are 
projected against a more luminous ground, or they are formed 
out of human beings or animals whose colour or change of 
place renders them more visible in the dark. 



SECTION X. 

Philosophy of Apparitions — Continued. — lb. 

That class of apparitions which can be seen only by one 
person at a time, may originate in three different causes. First, 
they may be the result of mere optical illusion, presented to a 
person of the soundest mind and in the most perfect health ; or 
of certain physical affections of the eye, occasioned by some 
temporary derangement'- of its functions, and exaggerated by 
the imagination. Secondly, they may have their origin entirely 
in the imagination when rendered morbid by an early-instiiled 
and deeply-seated belief in apparitions, and when excited by 
local associations. Thirdly, they may arise, in persons of the 
soundest minds and with the best regulated imaginations, from 
a diseased state of the vital functions, — exhibiting themselves 
in open day, and even in the midst of the social circle. 

*Egz-hlb'lt. b Awg-zil'ya.'r5. c De-r&nje'm£nt — not, munt. d Egz-hlb'lt-lir; 



292 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

Ono of the most extraordinary illusions of the description las* 
mentioned, is that of Nicolai, a bookseller of Berlin, who com- 
municated an account of his own case to the Prussian* Aca- 
demy of Science. 

Towards 1, the close of the year 1790, and at the commence- 
ment of 1791, M. Nicolai had been agitated by various misfor- 
tunes which preyed deeply upon his mind, when, on the 24th of 
February, an event occurred which threw him into still deeper 
distress. At about ten o'clock in the morning, just as his wife 
and a friend were entering his room for the purpose of consoling 
him, he perceived, at the distance of a few paces, the standing 
figure of a person deceased, which remained from seven to 
eight minutes, and which the rest of the party, of course, were 
unable to see. A little after four o'clock in the afternoon, the 
same figure appeared to him when he was alone ; and upon his 
going out, in order to mention the circumstance to his wife, the 
spectre accompanied him to her apartment, alternately* 1 vanish- 
ing and reappearing. A little after six o'clock, several stalking 
figures 6 also appeared ; but they had no connexion with the fig- 
ure already mentioned. 

When his mind had become more composed, and his bodily 
indisposition had been removed by medical treatment, Nicolai 
expected that these apparitions would take leave of him. His 
expectations, however, were f disappointed, for they increased 
in number, and underwent the most extraordinary transforma- 
tions. The standing figure of the deceased person never ap- 
peared to him after the 24th of February ; but several other 
figures 6 occupied its place. These figures 6 were chiefly repre- 
sentations of persons whom he did not know, though he some- 
times saw those of his acquaintances. The figures 6 of living 
persons occurred more frequently than those of persons who 
were f deceased ; and he distinctly observed, that acquaintances 
with whom he daily conversed, never appeared to him as phan- 
tasms. After some weeks, when he had become familiar with 
these unbidden guests, he endeavoured to conjure up phantasms 
of his acquaintances, by bringing them before his imagination 
in the. most lively manner; but, although he had, only a short 
time previous, seen them as phantasms, by this process he never 
could succeed in giving them an external locality. 

When he was conversing with his physician and his wife, re- 
specting the phantasms which hovered around him, the figures 

a Prnsh'an. 'To'urrlz. c Fig-'are — not, flg'er. d &l-t£r'n&te-l&— not 
iitcZ-ter'ndte-le. e Flg'arez. f W£r. 



Chap. IV. PHILOSOPHY OF APPARITIONS. 2£3 

would sometimes leave him altogether, and fhen appear again, 
singly or in groups. The apparitions were generally human 
figures of both sexes, which, like people at a fair, commonly ' 
passed to and fro, as if they had no mutual connexion, though 
they sometimes appeared to have business with one another. On 
one or two occasions, he saw persons on horseback, dogs, and 
birds, all of which appeared in their natural size, and of the 
same colours which they exhibit 1 in real life, though somewhat 
paler. 

When these apparitions began to be seen more frequently, 
Nicolai began also to hear them speak. Sometimes they ad- 
dressed one another, but generally they spoke to himself, in 
short speeches, which never contained any thing disagreeable. 
This loquacity in the apparitions, occurred most frequently when 
he was alone, though he occasionally heard it in society, inter- 
mixed with the actual conversation of the company. 

Although these appearances had ceased to excite any disa- 
greeable emotion, and had even afforded him frequent subjects 
of amusement 4 and mirth, yet as his disorder had sensibly in- 
creased, and as the figures had appeared to him for whole days 
together, and even when he awoke during the night, he found 
it necessary, not only to take medicine, but also to apply leeches. 
This was done on the 20th of April, at 11 o'clock in the fore- 
noon ; and, during the operation, while he was sitting alone 
with the surgeon, the room swarmed with human forms of every 
description, which crowded fast upon one another till half-past 
four o'clock. The figures then began to move more slowly ; 
their colours became gradually paler ; and, after intervals of 
seven minutes, he could distinguish a palpable diminution in their 
intensity, without any change in the distinctness of their forms. 
At about half- past six o'clock, they became entirely white, and 
moved very slightly ; their forms, however, were still perfectly 
distinct, and, without decreasing in number, they gradually be- 
came less perceptible. Instead of moving off or vanishing, as 
they had usually done, they now dissolved immediately into air ; 
whole pieces of some of them continuing for a length of time, 
and at last disappearing. About eight o'clock, not a vestige of 
them remained ; and Nicolai never again was disturbed by these 
spectral illusions. 

Accustomed to the investigation of mental phenomena, Nico 
lai took a great interest in studying the facts which had thiia 
occurred with himself; and he has recorded various, excellent 

*Egz-hlb'lt — not, kg-zib it. b A-mftze'm£nt — not, munt. 
25* 



294 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

observations, of which the following are the most interesting" to 
the pneumatologist. 

He could trace no connexion between the figures and the 
state of his mind, the nature of his employments, or the course 
of his thoughts previous to their appearance. He could always 
clearly distinguish phantasms from real personages. The ap- 
pearance of the phantasms was, in every instance, b involuntary, 
a,id not dependant on any external circumstances : whether he 
was alone, or in society, whether in broad day-light, or in dark- 
ness, whether in his own house, or that of a neighbour, their 
appoarani e was equally distinct. 

T e figures sometimes disappeared when he shut his eyes, 
aid at other times they remained : when they vanished, in the 
former case, nearly the same figures reappeared when his eyes 
were again opened. The figures were neither terrible, ludic- 
rous, nor repulsive ; and they appeared more frequently in mo- 
tion that at rest. On two or three occasions, after he had ceased 
to observe these appearances, he felt a propensity to see mem 
again, or, rather, a sensation as if he saw them, but the sensa- 
tion immediately left him without calling up the phantasms. 

From a critical examination of Nicolai's case, it appeared 
that the immediate cause of these spectral illusions, was a pe- 
culiar derangement of the digestive organs. Other similar cases 
are not unknown, and are found to proceed from the same cause. 
So recently as in 1829, a very interesting case of the kind oc- 
curred in England in the person of Mrs. A., which our restrict- 
ed limits do not allow us to present. 



SECTION XI. 
Perpetuity of the Church. — Dr. Mason. 

The long existence" of the Christian Church', would be pro 
nounced', upon common principles of reasoning', impossible' 
She finds in every man a natural and an inveterate enemy'. To 
encounter and overcome the unanimous hostility of the world', 
she boasts no political stratagem ', no disciplined legions\ no 
outward coercion of any kind'. Yet', her expectation is', that 
she will live forever". 

To mock this hope', and to blot out her memorial from under 
heaven', the most furious efforts of fanaticism?, the most inge- 

a In't£r , est-lng. b In'stanse. c Eg-zist'£nso 



Chap. IV. PERPETUITY OF THE CHURCH. 295 

nious arts of statesmen',* the concentrated strength of empires', 
have been frequently 15 and perseveringly applied'. — The blood 
of her sons and her daughters has streamed like water" ; the 
smoke of the scaffold and the stake', where they wore the 
crown of martyrdom in the cause of Jesus', has ascended in 
thick volumes to the skies'. The tribes of persecution have 
sported over her woes', and erected monuments', as they 
imagined', of her perpetual ruin'. But where are her tyrants', 
and where their empires'? The tyrants have long since gone 
to their own })lace'; their names have descended upon the roll 
of infamy'; their empires have passed', like shadows', over the 
rock 1 ; they have successively disappeared', and left not a tract; 
behind! 

But what became of the Church'? She rose from her ashes', 
fresh in beauty and might'; celestial glory beamed around her 1 ; 
she dashed down the monumental marble of her foes'; and they 
who hated her', fled before her 1 . She has celebrated the funeral 
of kings and kingdoms that plotted her destruction'; and', with 
the inscriptions of their pride', has transmitted to posterity the 
records of their shame 1 . 

How shall this phenomenon be explained'? We are', at the 
present moment', witnesses of the fact'; but who can unfold 
the mystery'? The book of truth and life', has made our won- 
der cease'. "The Lord her God in the midst of her', is 
mighty'." His presence is a. fountain of health', and his pro- 
tection', a u wall of fire'" He has betrothed her', in eternal 
covenant', to himself. Her living Head', in whom she breathes', 
is above', and his quickening spirit shall never depart from her'. 
Armed with divine virtue', his Gospel' , d secret', silent', 6 unob- 
served', enters the hearts of men', and sets up an everlasting 
kingdom'. It eludes all tne vigilance', and baffles all the power', 
of the adversary'. Bars', and bolts', and dungeons', are no ob- 
stacles to its approach': bonds', and tortures', and death', can- 
not extinguish its influence'. Let no man's heart tremble', 
then', because of fear'. Let no man despair' (in these days of 
rebuke and blasphemy') of the Christian cause'. The ark is 
launched', indeed', upon the floods'; the tempest sweeps along 
the deep'; the billows break over her on every side'; but Jeho- 
vah-Jesus has promised to conduct her in safety to the haven of 
peace'. She cannot be lost' , unless the pilot perish'. 

a Stdtes'mln — not, man. l Fr£'kw£nt-l£. c Pr£z'£nse — not, unse, 
^Gos'pSl— not, Gos'pl. e Si'l£nt. 



296 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

SECTION XII. 
Dr. Johnson's Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield. 

My Lord : I have been lately informed by the proprietor of 
.he World, that two papers in which my Dictionary is recom- 
mended to the publick, were written by your Lordship. To be 
so distinguished, is an honour, which, being very little accus- 
tomed to favours from the great, I know not well* how to re- 
ceive, or in what terms to acknowledge. When, upon some 
slight encouragement,* I first visited your Lordship, I was over- 
powered, like the rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your 
address ; and could not forbear to wish that I might boast my- 
self " the conqueror of the conqueror of the earth ;" — that I 
might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending : 
but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither 
pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When I had 
once addressed your Lordship in publick, I had exhausted all 
the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can 
possess. I had done all that I could ; and no man is well 
pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little. 

Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in 
your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during 
which time I have been pushing on my work through difficul- 
ties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at 
last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, 
one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such 
treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron c before. 

The Shepherd in Virgil grew, at last, acquainted with Love, 
and found him a native of the rocks. 

Is not a patron, c my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on 
a man straggling for life in the water, and when he has reached 
ground, encumbers him with help 1 The notice which you have 
been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been 
kind ; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot 
enjoy it ; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I am 
known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical as- 
perity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been re- 
ceived, or to be unwilling that the publick should consider me 
as owing that to a patron, which Providence has enabled me 
to do for myself. 

Having carried on my work thus far, with so little obligation 
:* any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though 

a En-kfrr'rldje-m£nt. b En-tshlntWnt, c Pi'trun. 



Chap. IV. rolla's speech. 207 

I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have 
been long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once 
boasted myself with so much exultation, my Lord, your Lord- 
ship's most humble, most obedient servant, 

SAM JOHNSON. 



SECTION XIII. 

Rolla's Speech to the Peruvians. — Sheridan. 

My* brave associates 1 ! — partners of my 1 toil', my a feelings', 
and ray 1 fame 1 ! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous 
energies which inspire your hearts'? — No 1 ; you have judged', 
as /have', the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold 
invaders would delude you". Your generous spirit has com- 
pared', as mine has', the motives which', in a war like this,, 
can animate their minds and aurs'. — They' , by a strange frenzy 
driven', fight for power', for plunder', and extended rule': ire 1 , 
for our country', our altars', and our homes'. They follow an 
adventurer whom they fear", and obey a power which they 
hate 1 : — we serve a monarch whom we love' — a God whom 

We ADORE 1 . 

Whenever they move in anger', desolation tracks their prog- 
ress 1 . b Wherever they pause in amity', affliction mourns their 
friendship 1 . They boast they come but to improve our state\ 
enlarge our thoughts' , and free us from the yoke of errour'! 
Yes'; they' — they will give enlightened freedom to our 
minds', who are themselves the slaves of passion', avarice', 
and pride'! They offer us their protection*. Yes'; such 
protection as vultures give to lambs', covering and devouring 
them'! They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited 
and proved ', for the desperate chance of something better which 
they promise'. — Be our plain answer this': The throne we 
honour', is the people's choice'; the laws we reverence', are our 
brave fathers' legacy' ; the faith we follow', teaches us to live 
in bonds of charity with all mankind' , and die with the hope 
of bliss beyond the grave'. — Tell your invaders this*, and teil 
them', too', we seek no change'; and', least of all', such a 
change as they would bring us'. 

a M£. b Prdg'r£s — not, prfl'gr£s 



29H selections in prose. 



SECTION XIV. 

Speech of Caius Marius to the Romans, 

Shoxcvng the absurdity of their hesitating to confer on him the rank of 
General, merely on account of his extraction. 

It is but too common', my a countrymen', 6 that we observe a 
material difference in the conduct of those who become candi- 
dates for places of power and trust', before' . . and after' . . they 
obtain them'. They solicit offices', in one manner', and execute 
the duties of them', in another'. They set out with the fair 
appearance i of activity', humility', and moderation'; but soon 
become slothful', 6 proud', and avaricious'. To discharge the 
duties of a supreme commanderin troublesome times', in such a 
manner as to give general satisfaction', is undoubtedly no easy 
matter'. To carry on with effect' , an expensive war', and yet 
be frugal with the publickmy??e?/'; to oblige those to serve whom 
it may be delicate and dangerous to offend 1 ; to conduct', at one 
and the same time', a variety of complicated operations'; to 
concert measures at home strictly answerable to the state of 
things abroad'; and,' in spite of opposition from the envious', 
the malicious', the factious', and the disaffected', to be success- 
ful in gaining every valuable end'; — to do all this', my* coun- 
trymen','' is more difficult than is generally supposed 1 . 

But besides the di; advantages common to the patrician', ap- 
pointed to an equally eminent station', I wen compelled to sustain 
the weight of others from which he is shielded by his noble 
birth'. If he is guilty of neglect or a breach of trust' , the 
influence of his formidable connexions", the antiquity of his 
family', the important services of his ancestors', and the mul- 
titudes secured to his interest by the power of his wealth', all 
tend to screen him from the hands of justice and the infliction 
of condign punishment'; whereas', my safety depends wholly 
upon myself. This renders it indispensably necessary', that 
my conduct be pure' and unexceptionable'. 

1 am well aware', my a countrymen', 1 ' that the eye of the 
publiclc is upon me'; and that', although the impartial' , who 
prefer the real advantage of the commonwealth' , to all other 
considerations', favour my pretensions', yet the patricians de- 
sire nothing more ardently than an accusation against me*. 
It is my fixed resolution', therefore', to use my best endeavours 
so to discharge the several duties of my office', that you shall 

»MS. b Kan'trd , mgn — not, mun, c Diffur'£nse — not, unse. d Ap-p£Sr' 
&nse — not, wnse. e S16iA'fu.l. 



Chap. IV. SPEECH OF CAIUS MARIUS. 299 

not be disappointed in me', and that their indirect design?* 
against me', shall he frustrated". 

"From my youth', I have been familiar with toils and with 
dangers'. When I served you for no reward but that of hon- 
our' , I was faithful to your interest 1 : and now that you have 
conferred upon me a place of profit' ', it is not my design 11 to 
betray you'. You have committed to my charge the war 
against Jugurtha'. At this', the patricians are offended'. But 
where would be the wisdom of giving such a command to one 
of their honourable body'? — to a person of illustrious birth', 

ancient 1, family', of innumerable statues', but' ... of no 
experience 1 ? What service would his long line of dead an- 
cestors', or his multitude of motionless statues', render his 
country in the day of battle'? What could such a general 
do', amidst difficulties to which he himself is unequal', but', in 
his trepidation and inexperience', have recourse for direction to 
some inferiour commander'? Thus', your patrician general 
would', in fact' , have a general over him'; so that the acting 
commander would still be a plebeian'.* So true is this', my 
countrymen', that I have myself known those who were chosen 
consuls'^ then to begin to read the history of their own country', 
of which', until that time', they were totally ignorant' f that is', 
they first procured the office', and then bethought themselves 
of the qualifications necessary for the proper discharge of its 
duties'. 

When a comparison is made between patrician haughtiness 
and plebeian* experience ', c I submit it to your judgment'/ Ro- 
mans', to determine on which side the advantage lies'. The 
very actions of which they have only read', I have partly seen', 
and partly myself achieved'. W r hat they know by reading', 

1 know by experience'." They are pleased to slight my mean 
birth': I despise their mean characters'. Want of birth 
and fortune is the objection against me': want of personal 
worth', against them'. But', are not all men of the same spe- 
cies'? What can make a difference between one man and 
another , but the endowments of the mind'? For my part', I 
shall always look upon the bravest man', as the noblest man'. 
Suppose it were inquired of the fathers of such patricians as 
Albinus', and Bestia', whether', were ? they to have their choice', 
they w T ould desire sons of their character', or of mine' , what 
v>ould they answer', but', that they would wish the worthiest to 
be their sons'? If the patricians have reason to despise me', let 

^Dd-slnze'— not, Ai-zinze. h £ne'tsh£nt. c Eks-p£'r£'£nse — not, «nse. 
Pl£-b£'y&.n. e Ig'n6'rant — not, runt. f JudjeWnt — not, niwnt. zWbr 



300 SELECTIONS* IN PROSE. 

them', likewise', despise their ancestors', whose nobility w*j 
the fruit of their virtue'. Do they envy me the honours be- 
stowed upon me'? Let them', likewise', envy my labours, my 
abstinence', and the dangers I have undergone for my country', 
by which I have acquired those honours'. 

Those worthless men lead a life . of so great inactivity as to 
induce the belief that they despise any honours you can bestow', 
whilst', at the same time', they as eagerly aspire to honours as 
if they had deserved them by the most industrious course of 
virtue'. They lay claim to the rewards of activity', for their 
having enjoyed the pleasures of luxury'. Yet', none can be 
more lavish than themselves in the praise of their ancestors'. 
By celebrating their forefathers , they imagine that they honour 
themselves' ; whereas', they thereby do the very reverse'; for', 
in proportion as their ancestors were* distinguished for their 
virtues' , are they disgraced by their vices'. The glory of an- 
cestors sheds a light', indeed', upon their posterity'; but a light 
which tends only to reveal the character of their descendants'. 13 
It alike exhibits to publick view', both their degeneracy and 
their worth'. I acknowledge that I cannot boast of the deeds 
of my forefathers' ; but I hope to answer the cavils of the 
patricians by manfully defending what I have myself accom- 
plished'. 

Observe', now', my countrymen', the injustice of the patri- 
cians'. They arrogate to themselves honours on account of the 
exploits done by their forefathers' , whilst they will not allow 
me the due meed of praise for performing the very same hind 
of heroick actions in my own person'. He has no statues of 
his family', they exclaim'. He can trace back no line of ven- 
erable ancestors'. What then'? Is it a subject of higher praise 
for one to disgrace his illustrious ancestors', than to become 
illustrious by his own noble behaviour? What if I can show 
no statues of my family'] I can exhibit the standards', the ar- 
mour', and the trappings which I have myself taken from the 
utmquished'. I can show the scars of those wounds which I 
have received by facing the e/iemies of my country \ These 
are my statues'. These are the honours of which I boast'. 
These were* not left me by inheritance' , d as theirs were'; a but 
they have been earned by toil', by abstinence', e by acts of valour 
amidst clouds of dust and seas of blood'; — amidst scenes of 
peril and carnage in which those effeminate patricians who', by 
indirect means', endeavour to lower me in your estimation' 
have never dared to show their faces'. 

a W6r. l D£-send'&nts— not, writs. c Egz-hlb'lts. d In-hSr'U'&nse— -not, 
tense. e Ab'st£'n£nse — not. ^b'ste'nunse. 



Ijliap. IV. REPLY OF MR. PITT. 30 1 

SECTION XV. 
Reply of Mr. Pitt, 

(The late Earl of Chatham,) 

To the charge of youthful inexperience, and theatrical enunciation. 

This illustrious father of English oratory, when a young 1 member, hav 
iiig- expressed himself, in the House of Commons, with his accustomed 
energy, in opposition to one of the measures then in agitation, his speech 
produced an answer from Mr. Walpole, who, in the course of it, said, 
"Formidable sounds and furious declamation, confident 1 assertions and 
lofty periods, may affect the young and inexperienced; and, perhaps, the 
honourable gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory by con- 
versing- more with those of his own age, than with such as have had more 
opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of 
communicating their sentiments." He also made use of certain expres- 
sions, such as " vehemence 15 of gesture, theatrical emotion," and the like, 
applying them to Mr. Pitt's manner of speaking. As soon as Mr. Walpole 
sat down, Mr. Pitt got up, and replied : 

The atrocious crime of being a young man' , which', with so 
much spirit and decency', the honourable gentleman has charged 
upon me', I shall neither attempt to palliate' , nor deny"; but 
content myself with wishing', that I may be one of those whose 
follies cease with their youth'; and not of that number who 
are ignorant? in spite of experience' . e 

Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach', 
I will not assume the province of determining'; but', surely', 
age may become justly contemptible', if the opportunities which 
it brings', have passed away without improvement', and vice 
appears to prevail when the passions have subsided'. The 
wretch that', after having seen the consequences of a thousand 
err ours, continues still to blunder , and whose age has only 
added obstinacy to stupidity ' , is surely the object of either ab- 
horrence or contempt; and deserves not that his gray head 
should screen him from insults'. Much more is he to be ab- 
horred', who', as he has advanced in age ', has receded from 
virtue',* and becomes more wicked', with less temptation': — who 
prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy\ and 
soends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country'. 

But youth is not my only crime'. I have been accused of 
acting a theatrical part'. A theatrical part may imply', either 
some peculiarities of gesture , or a dissimulation of my reat 

a K6n'fe , dent— not, kon'fe'dunt. b Ve'he , mense. c Jes'tshu.re- wA 
ttth&r. d Ig'nd'rant — not, IgWrunt. eEks-pd're/ense. 

26 



302 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

sentiments' * and an adoption of the opinions and language of 
another man'. 

In the first sense', the charge is too trifling to be confuted"; 
and deserves only to be mentioned 1 , that it may be despised'. 
I am at liberty' (like every other man') to use my own lan- 
guage': and though I may', perhaps', have some ambition', 
yet', to please this gentleman', 1 ' I shall not lay myself under 
any restraint', or very solicitously copy his diction ', or his 
mien", however matured by age', or modelled by experienced 
If, by charging me with theatrical behaviour', any man mean 
to insinuate that I utter any sentiments* but my own , I shall 
treat him as a calumniator and a villain': nor shall any pro- 
tection shelter him from the treatment which he deserves". On 
such an occasion', I shall', without scruple', trample upon all 
those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench them- 
selves'; nor shall any thing but age', restrain my resentment': d 
— age' , which always brings one privilege' — that of being in- 
solent" and supercilious without punishment". 

But', with regard to those whom I have offended ', I am of 
opinion', that', had I acted a borrowed part', I should have 
avoided their censure'. The heat that offended them', is the 
ardour of conviction", and that zeal for the service of my 
country', which neither hope , nor fear' , shall influence me to 
suppress". I will not sit unconcerned 1 , while my liberty is 
invaded' ; nor look in silence* upon publick robbery'. I will 
exert my endeavours', at whatever hazard' , to repel the ag- 
gressor", and drag the thief to justice', — what power soever 
may protect the villany , and whoever may partake of the 
plunder". 



SECTION XVI. 

On the Death of Gen. Hamilton. — Dr. Nott. 

He yielded to the force of an imperious custom'; and', yield- 
mg', he sacrificed^ a life in which all had an interest':— and he 
is lost'; lost to his country', lost to his family', and lost to us'* 
For this act', because he disclaimed it', and was penitent', h 1 
forgive him'. But there are those whom I cannot forgive'. ] 
mean not his antagonist', over whose erring steps', if there are 
tears in heaven', a pious mother looks down and weeps'. If he 

a S£n't£' mints — not, rrrants. b Jen'trm&n — not, mun. c Tr£6t'm£iit> 
d RS-z£nt'mlnt— not, rk-zlnVmunt. ^In'si'llnt — not, hint, f Sl'lent«. 
eS&k'rfe'flzd. bP£n'^t£nt. 



Chap. IV. ON THE DEATH OF GEN. HAMILTON. 303 

is capable of feeling', he suffers already all that humanity can 
suffer'. Suffers', and wherever he may fly', will suffer with 
the poignant 3 recollection of having taken the life of one who 
was too magnanimous in return to attempt his own 1 . Had he 
Known this', it must have paralyzed h : sarm while it pointed', at 
so incorruptible a bosom', the instrument of death'. Does he 
know this now', his heart', if it is not adamant', must soften'; 
— if it is not ice', it must melt'. 

But', on this article I forbear'. Stained with blood as he is', 
if he is penitent', I forgive him'; and if he is not', before these 
altars where all of us appear as suppliants', I wish not to excite 
your vengeance', but', rather', in behalf of an object rendered 
wretched and pitiable by crime', to wake your prayers'. But I 
have said', and I repeat it', there are those whom I cannot for- 
give'. I cannot forgive that minister at the altar who has hith- 
erto forborne to remonstrate on this subject'. I cannot forgive 
that publick prosecutor who', ntrusted with the duty of aveng- 
ing his country's wrongs', has seen those wrongs', and taken 
no measures' 5 to avenge them'. I cannot forgive that judge upon 
the bench', or that governour in the chair of state', who has 
lightly passed over such offences'. I cannot forgive the pub- 
lick', in whose opinion the duellist finds a sanctuary'. 

I cannot forgive you', my brethren', who', till this late hour', 
have been c silent', whilst successive murders were committed'. 
No'; I cannot forgive you', that you have not', in common with 
the freemen of this state', raised your voice to " the powers that 
be'," and loudly and explicitly demanded an execution of your 
laws'. Demanded this in a manner which', if it did not reach 
the ear of government', 11 would', at least', have reached the 
heavens', and have plead your excuse before the God that filleth 
them', in whose presence', as I stand', I should not feel myself 
innocent 6 of the blood which crieth against us', had I been 
silent'. But I have not been c silent'. Many of you who hear 
me', are my witnesses', the walls .of yonder temple where I 
have heretofore addressed you', are my witnesses', how freely I 
have animadverted on this subject in the presence', both of those 
who have violated the laws', and of those whose indispensable 
duty it is to see the laws executed on those who violate them'. 

a P6£'nant. l M£zh'urez. c BIn — not, be^n — nor, b^n — nor, j6 ! nor 
tdm! d Gav'&rn , m£nt. d Iu'nd's§nt — not, in'ni 'sunt. 



304 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

SECTION XVII. 

Extract from Mr. Webster 's Speech in reply to Mr. Hayne 
in the Senate of the U. S. 1830. 

The honourable gentleman argues', that if this government is 
the sole judge of the extent of its own powers', whether that .right 
of judging is in congress', or the supreme court', it equally sub- 
verts state sovereignty'. This the gentleman sees', or thinks he 
sees', although he cannot perceive how the right of judging 1 ', 
in this matter', if left to the exercise of state legislatures', has 
any tendency to subvert the government of the Union'. The 
gentleman's opinion may be', that the right ought not to have 
been lodged with the genera] government 1 ; he may like better', 
such a constitution as we should have under the right of state 
interference'; but I ask him to meet me on the plain matter of 
fact' — I ask him to meet me on the constitution itself — I ask 
him', if the power is not found there 1 — clearly and visibly found 
there'. 

But', sir', what is this danger', and what the grounds of it'? 
Let it be remembered', that the constitution of the United States', 
is not unalterable'. It is to continue in its present form', no 
longer than the people who established it', shall choose to con- 
tinue it'. If they shall become convinced', that they have made 
an injudicious or inexpedient partition and distribution of powers 
between the state governments and the general government', 
they can alter that distribution at will'. 

If any thing be found in the national constitution', either by 
original provision', or subsequent interpretation', which ought 
not to jpe in it', the people know how to get rid of it\ If any 
construction be established', unacceptable to them', so as to be- 
come', practically', a part of the constitution', they will amend 
it at their own sovereign pleasure'. But while the people choose 
to maintain it as it is'; while they are satisfied with it', and re- 
fuse to change it'; who has given', or who can give', to the 
state legislature', a right to alter it', either by interference', con- 
struction', or otherwise'? Gentlemen do not seem to recollect', 
that the people have any power to do anything for themselves'; 
they imagine there is no safety for them', any longer than they 
are under the close guardianship of the state legislatures'. Sir', 
the people have not trusted their safety', in regard to the general 
constitution', to these hands'. They have required other secu 
rity\ and taken other bonds'. They have chosen to trust them 
selves', first', to the plain words of the instrument', and to such 
construction as the government itself ', in doubtful cases', should 



Chap. IV. mr. Webster's speech. 305 

put on its own powers', under their oaths of office', and subject 
to their responsibility to them': just as the people of a state , 
trust their own state governments with a similar power'. Sec 
ondly,' they have reposed their trust in the efficacy of frequent 
elections', and in their own power to remove their own servants 
and agents', whenever they see cause'. Thirdly', they have 
reposed trust in the judicial power, which', in order that it 
might be trustworthy', they have made as respectable', as dis- 
interested', and as independent', as was practicable'. Fourthly', 
they have seen fit to rely', in case of necessity', or high expe- 
diency', on their known and admitted power to alter or amend 
the constitution', peaceably and quietly', whenever experience 
shall point out defects or imperfections'. And', finally', the 
people of the United States have', at no time', in no way', 
directly or indirectly', authorized any state legislature to con- 
strue or interpret their high instrument of government'; much 
less to interfere by their own power', to arrest its course and 
operation'. 

If, sir', the people', in these respects', had done otherwise 
than they have done', their constitution could neither have been 
preserved' , nor would it have been worth preserving'. And', 
if its plain provisions shall now be disregarded', and these new 
doctrines interpolated in it', it will become as feeble and helpless 
a being as its enemies', whether early or more recent', could 
possibly desire'. It will exist, in every state', but as a poor 
dependant on state permission'. It must borrow leave to be , 
and will be', no longer than state pleasure', or state discretion', 
sees fit to grant the indulgence', and to prolong its poor exist- 
ence'. 

But', sir', although there are fears' , there are hopes also'. 
The people have preserved this', their own chosen constitution', 
for forty years', and have seen their happiness', prosperity', and 
renown', grow with its growth', and strengthen with its strength'. 
They are now', generally', strongly attached to it'. Overthrown 
by direct assault, it can not be'; evaded', undermined', nulli- 
fied', it will not be', if we| and those who shall succeed us 
here', as agents and representatives of the people', shall con- 
scientiously and vigilantly discharge the two great branches of 
our publick trust' — faithfully to preserve and wisely to admin 
ister it'. 

Mr. President', I have thus stated the reasons of my disseni 
to the doctrines which have been advanced and maintained'. J 
am conscious of having detained you and the senate much too 
long'. I was drawn into the debate with no previous delibera 

26* 



306 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

tion , sue!) as is suited to the discussion of so grave and impor- 
tant a subject 1 . . But it is a subject of which my heart is full'; 
and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its 
spontaneous sentiments'. 

I cannot', sir', even now', persuade myself to relinquish this 
subject' without expressing', once more', my deep conviction' 
that since it respects nothing less than the Union of the States' 
it is of the most vital and essential importance to nublick happi- 
ness'. I profess', sir', in my career hitherto', to have kept 
steadily in view the prosperity and honour of the whole coun- 
try', and the preservation of our Federal Vnion\ It is to that 
Union we owe our safety at home', and our consideration and 
dignity abroad'. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebt- 
ed for whatever makes us most proud of our country'. That 
Union we reached', only by the discipline of our virtues', in the 
severe school of adversity'. It had its origin in the necessities 
of disordered finance', prostrate commerce', and ruined credit'. 
Under its benign influences', these great interests immediately 
awoke', as from the dead', and sprang forth with newness of 
life'. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs 
of its utility and its blessings'; and', although our territory has 
stretched out', wider and wider', and our population has spread 
farther and farther', they have not outrun its protection', or its 
benefits'. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national', 
social', and personal happiness'. 

I have not allowed myself, sir', to look beyond the Union', 
to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind'. I have 
not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty', when the 
bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder '. I have 
not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion', 
to see whether', with my short sight', I can fathom the depth of 
the abyss below'; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor 
in the affairs of this government', whose thoughts should be 
mainly bent on considering', not how the Union should be best 
preserved' , but how tolerable might be the condition of the 
people when it shall be broken up and destroyed'. 

While the Union lasts', we have high', exciting', gratifying 
prospects spread out before us', for ourselves and our children'. 
Beyond that', I seek not to penetrate the veil'. God grant', 
that', in my day', at least', that curtain may not rise'. God 
grant', that', on my vision', never may be opened what lies be- 
hind . When my eyes shall be turned to behold', for the last 
time', the sun in the heavens', may I not see him shining on the 
broken and dishonoured fragments of a once glorious Union 



Chap. IV. THE BROKEN HEART. 307 

on States dissevered 1 , discordant', belligerent'; on a land rent 
with civil feuds', or drenched , it may be , in fraternal blood'1 
Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gor- 
geous ensign of the Republick , now known and honoured 
throughout the earth', still full high advanced', its arms and tro- 
phies streaming in their original lustre', with not a stripe erased 
or polluted', nor a single star obscured' — bearing for its motto', 
no such miserable interrogatory as — What is all this worth? 
nor those other words of delusion and folly' — Liberty first' , and 
Union afterward' but everywhere', spread all over in char- 
acters of living light', blazing on all its ample folds as they float 
over the sea and over the land', and in every wind under the 
whole heavens', that other sentiment', dear to every true Ameri- 
can heart' — Liberty and Union', now and forever', one and 
inseparable'! 



SECTION XVIII. 
The Broken Heart, — Irving. 



Every one must recollect tne tragical story of young Emmet , tne Irish 
patriot': it was too touching to be soon forgotten'. During the troubles 
Ok Ireland,' he was tried', condemned', and executed', on a charge of trea- 
son'.* His fate made a deep impression on publick sympathy'. He was so 
yuung' — so intelligent' — so generous' — so brave' — so every thing that we 
a^e apt to like in a young man'. His conduct under trial', too', was so 
lofty and intrepid'. The noble indignation with which he repelled the 
charge of treason against his country' — the eloquent vindication of his 
name' — and his pathetick appeal to posterity', in the hopeless hour of con- 
demnation' — all these entered deeply into every generous bosom', and even 
h-,s enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution'. 

But there was one heart', whose anguish it would be impossible to de- 
scribe'. In happier days and fairer fortunes', he had won the affections oJ 
a beautiful and interesting girl', the daughter of a late', celebrated Irish 
barrister'.t She loved him with the disinterested fervour of a woman's 
first and early love'. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against 
him'; when blasted in fortune', and disgrace and danger darkened around 
his name', she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings'. If, 
then', his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes', what must 
have been the agony of her whose whole soul was occupied by his image ? 
Let diose tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed be- 
tween them and the being they most loved on earth' — who have sat at its 
threshold', as one shut out in a cold and lonely world', from whence all 
that was most lovely and loving had departed'. 

* In 1803. t Mr. Curran. 



308 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

Eut then', the horrours of such a grave'! — so frightful', so dishonoured'! 
There was nothing for memory to dwell on', that could sooth the pang 
of separation' — none of those tender', though melancholy', circumstances', 
that endear the parting scene 1 — nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed 
tears', sent', like the dews of heaven', to revive the heart in the parting 
hour of anguish'. 

To render her widowed situation more desolate', she had incurred her 
father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment', and was an exile from 
the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends 
have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horrour', she would have 
experienced no want of consolation', for the Irish are a people of quick 
and generous sensibilities'. The most delicate and cherishing attentions 
were paid her', by families of wealth and distinction'. She was led into 
society'; and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dis- 
sipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her loves'. But 
it was all in vain'. There are some strokes of calamity that scath and 
scorch the soul' — that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness' — and blast 
it', never again to put forth bud or blossom'. She never objected to fre- 
quent the haunts of pleasure', but she was as much alone there', as in the 
depths of solitude'. She walked about in a sad revery / J apparently un- 
conscious of the world around her'. She carried with her an inward wo 
that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship', and " heeded not the 
sorfg of the charmer', charm he ever so wisely'." 

The person who told me her story', had seen her at a masquerade' 
There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and 
painful than to meet it in such a scene'. To find it wandering', like a 
spectre', lonely and joyless', where all around is gay' — to see it dressed 
out in the trappings of mirth', and looking so wan and wo-begone', as if 
it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness 
of sorrow'. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd 
with an air of utter abstraction', she sat herself down on the steps of an 
orchestra', and looking about for some time with a vacant air', that show- 
ed her insensibility to the garish scene', she began', with the capriciousness 
of a sickly heart', to warble a little plaintive air'. She had an exquisite 
voice'; but on this occasion', it was so simple' — so touching' — it breathed 
forth such a soul of wretchedness', — that she drew a crowd', mute and si- 
lent', around her', and melted every one to tears'. 

The story of one so true and tender', could not but excite great inter- 
est in a country remarkable for enthusiasm'. It completely won the heart 
of a brave officer', who paid his addresses to her', and thougnt , that one 
so true to the dead', could not but prove affectionate to the living'. She 
declined his attentions', for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by 
the memory of her former lover'. He', however , persisted in his suit'. 
lie solicited not her tenderness', but her esteem'. He was assisted by hep 



Chap. IV. SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMET, ESQ. 309 

conviction of his worth', and her sense of her own destitute and depend- 
ant situation', for she was existing- on the kindness of friends'. In a word', 
he at length succeeded in gaining her hand', though with the solemn as- 
surance', that her heart was unalterably another's'. 

He took her with him to Sicily', hoping that a change of scene might 
wear out the remembrance of early woes'. She was an amiable and ex- 
emplary wife', and made an effort to be a happy one'; but nothing could 
cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very 
soul'. She wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline', and at length 
sank into the grave', the victim of a broken heart'. 

Jt was on her that Mr. Moore', the distinguished Irish poet', composed 
the following lines': 

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps', 

And lovers around her are sighing'; 
But coldly she turns from their gaze', and weeps', 

For her heart in his grave is lying'. 

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains', 

Every note which he loved awaking' — 
All'! little they think', who delight in her strains', 

How the heart of the minstrel is breaking'! 

He had lived for his love' — for his country he died'; 

They were all that to life had intwined him' — 
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried', 

Nor long will his love stay behind him'. 

Oh'! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest', 

When they promise a glorious morrow'; 
They '11 shine o'er her sleep', like a smile from the west', 

From her own loved island of sorrow'. 



Speech of Robert Emmet, Esq. before Lord Norbvry, on an 
Endictment for High Treason. — Extract. 

What have I to say', why sentence of death should not be 
pronounced on me according to law'? I have nothing to say 
that can alter your predetermination', nor that will become me 
to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which 
you are here to pronounce', and which I must abide by'. But 
I have that to say which interests me more than life', and which 
you have laboured' (as was necessarily your office to do', in the 
present circumstances of this oppressed country') to destroy". 
I have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from 



310 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heap- 
ed upon it'. 

I do not imagine that', seated where you are', your minds can 
be so free from impurity as to receive the least impression from 
what 1 am going to utter'. I have no hopes that I can anchor 
my character in the breast of a court constituted and trammel- 
led as thisis'. I only wish', and it is the utmost I expect', that 
your lordships may suffer it to float down your memories', un- 
tainted by the foul breath of prejudice' , until it finds some more 
hospitable harbour to shelter it from the storms by which it is 
at present buffeted 1 . Were I only to suffer death', after being 
adjudged guilty by your tribunal', I should bow in silence', and 
meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur'; but the sen- 
tence of the law', which delivers my body to the executioner', 
will', through the ministry of that law', labour', in its own vin- 
dication', to consign my character to obloquy' — for there must 
be guilt somewhere'; whether in the sentence of the court', oi* 
in the catastrophe' , posterity must determine'. 

A man in' my situation', has to encounter', not only the diffi- 
culties of fortune', and the force of power over minds which it 
has corrupted or subjugated , but also the difficulties of establish- 
ed prejudice'. The man dies', but his memory lives'. That 
mine may not perish', that it may live in the respect of my 
countrymen', I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself 
from some of the charges alleged against me'. When my spir- 
it shall be wafted to a more friendly port', — when my shade 
shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have 
shed their blood on the scaffold and in the held', in defence of 
their country and of virtue', this is my hope' — I wish that my 
memory and name may animate those who' survive me'; while 
I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfid- 
ious government'. . which upholds its domination by blasphemy 
of the Most High' — which displays its power over men . . as 
over the beasts of the forest' — which sets man upon his bro. 
ther', and lifts his hand', in the narne of God', against the throat 
of his fellow'. . who believes or doubts a little more or a little 
less than the government standard' — a government', .which is 
steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of 
the widows which it has made'. [Here Lord Norbury inter- 
rupted Mr. Emmet, saying, that those wicked enthusiasts who 
felt as he did, were not equal to the accomplishment of their 
wild designs. ] 

I appeal to the immaculate God' — I swear by the throne ol 
Heaven', before which I must shortly appear' — by the blood 



Chap. IV SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMET, ESQ. 311 

of the murdered patriots who have gone before me' — that my 
conduct has been', through all this peril', and through all my 
purposes', governed only by the convictions which I have utter- 
ed' , and by no other motive than that of their cure', and the 
emancipation of my country from the superinhuman oppression 
under which she has so long and too patiently travailed 1 ; and I 
confidently hope', that', wild and chimerical as it may appear', 
there are still union and strength in Ireland sufficient to accom- 
plish this noblest enterprise'. Of this J speak with the confi- 
dence of intimate knowledge", and with the consolation that ap- 
pertains to that confidence 1 . Think not', my lord', I say this 
for the petty gratification of giving you a transitory uneasiness' . 
A man who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie', will not 
hazard his character with posterity by asserting a falsehood on 
a subject so important to his country', and on an occasion like 
this'. Yes', my lord 1 , a man who- does not wish to have his 
epitaph written until his country is liberated 1 , will not leave a 
weapon in the power of envy to impeach the probity which he 
means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns 
him! [Here he was again interrupted by the judge. .] 

Again I say', that what I have spoken was not intended for 
your lordship', whose situation I commiserate' , ratherthan envy' : 
my expressions were for my countrymen'. If there is a true 
Irishman present', let my last words cheer him in the hour of 
affliction'. [Here he was again interrupted by the court.~\ I 
have always understood it to be the duty of a judge , when a 
prisoner has been convicted', to pronounce the sentence of the 
law": I have also understood', that judges sometimes think it 
their duty to hear with patience', and to speak with humanity'; 
to exhort the victim of the laws', and to offer', with tender be- 
nignity', their opinions of the motives by which he was actuated 
in the crime of which he had been adjudged guilty 1 — that a 
judge has thought it his duty so to do', I have no doubt 1 ; but 
where is the boasted freedom of your institutions' — where is the 
vaunted impartiality and clemency of your courts ofjustice\ if 
an unfortunate prisoner', whom your policy' , not pure justice' , is 
about to deliver into the hands of the executioner', is not suffer- 
ed to explain his motives sincerely and truly 1 , and- to vindicate 
the principles by which he was actuated 1 ? 

My lord', it may be a part of the system of angry justice 
to bow a man's mind by humiliation to the purposed ignominy 
of the scaffold 1 : but worse to me than the purposed shame', or 
the scaffold's terrours , would be the shame of such foul and 
unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this 



&12 SELECTIONS IN PROSF. 

court'. You', my lord', are a judge 1 ; I am the supposed cul- 
prit' — I am a man'; you are a man also'. By a revolution of 
power', we might change places, though we never could change 
characters'. If I stand at the bar of this court', and dare not 
vindicate my character., what a farce is your justice"! If 1 
stand at this bar', and dare not vindicate my character', how 
dare you calumniate it 1 ? Does the sentence of death'., which 
your unhallowed policy inflicts upon my body' , also condemn 
my tongue to silence ' , and my reputation to reproach'? Your 
executioner may abridge the period of my existence 1 ; but', 
while I exist', I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and 
motives from your aspersions 1 ; and', as a man to whom fame 
is dearer than life', I will make the last use of that life in doing 
justice to that reputation which is to live after me 1 , and which 
is the only legacy I can leave to those I honour and love', and 
for whom I am proud to perish 1 . As men', we must appear', on 
the great day', at one common tribunal 1 ; and it will then remain 
for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe' 
who was engaged in the most virtuous actions', or actuated by 
the purest motives 1 — my country's oppressors', or' — [Here lie. 
was interrupted', and told, to listen to the sentence of the law'.] 

Mv lord', shall a dying man be denied the legal privilege of 
exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community', from an 
undeserved reproach thrown upon him during his trial 1 , by 
charging him with ambition', and attempting to cast away', for 
a paltry consideration', the liberties of his country'? Why did 
your lordship insult me 1 ? — or', rather', why insult justice', Dy 
demanding of me why sentence of death should not be pro- 
nounced 1 ? I know', my lord', that form prescribes that you 
should ask the question 1 : the form also presumes a right of 
answering'. This', no doubt', may be dispensed with'; and so 
might the" whole ceremony of the trial 1 , since sentence was 
already pronounced at the castle before your jury was empan- 
nelled 1 : your lordships are but the priests of the oracle'— and I 
submit to the sacrifice 1 ; but I insist on the whole of the forms 1 . 
[Here the court desired him to proceed'.'] 

I am charged with being an emissary of France' . An emis- 
sary of France' ! and for what end 1 ? It is alleged that I wished 
to sell the independence of my country'! And for what end 1 ? 
Was this the object of my ambition'? And is this the mode by 
which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions'? No 1 I 
am no emissary'. My ambition was to hold a place among the 
deliverers of my country 1 — not in power', not in profit 1 , but', in 
the glory of the achievement 1 . Sell my country's independence 



Chap. IV. SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMET, ESQ. 31 3 

to France ! and for what'? A change of masters'? No'; but 
for ambition" ' 

Oh', my country'! had it been personal ambition that influ- 
enced me' — had it been the soul of my actions', could I not', 
by my education and fortune', by the rank and consideration 
of my family', have placed myself amongst the proudest of 
your oppressors'? My country was my idol*. To it I sacri- 
ficed every selfish', every endearing sentiment'; and for it 
now offer up my life'. No', my lord', I acted as an Irishman', 
determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign 
and unrelenting tyranny', and from, the more galling yoke of a 
domestick faction 1 , its joint partner and perpetrator in parricide", 
whose rewards are the ignominy of existing with an exteriour 
of splendour', and a consciousness of depravity'. 

It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from 
this doubly riveted despotism'. I wished to place her inde- 
pendence beyond the reach of any power on earth'. I wished 
to exalt her to that proud station in the world which Providence 
had destined her to fill'. 

I have been charged with so great importance', in the efforts 
to emancipate my country', as to be considered the key-stone of 
the combination of Irishmen', or', as your lordship expressed 
it', " the life and blood of the conspiracy'." You do me honour 
overmuch' — you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a 
superiour\ There are men engaged in this conspiracy who 
are not only superiour to me', but even to your own conceptions 
of yourself '', my lord' — men before the splendour of whose 
genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference', and 
who would think themselves dishonoured to be called your 
friends* — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your 
blood-stained hand' — \~Here he was interrupted".'] 

What', my lord', shall you+te\\ me ' , on the passage to that 
scaffold which that tyranny', of which you are only the inter- 
mediary executioner', has erected for my murder' , that I am 
accountable for all the blood that has been', and will be', shed 
in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor — shall you 
tell me this , and must 1 be so very a slave as not to repel it'? 
— I , who fear not to approach the omnipotent Judge', to answer 
for the conduct of my whole life' — am / to be appalled and 
falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here'? — by you , too', 
who', if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that 
vou have shed', in your unhallowed ministrv', in one great 
27 



314 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

reservoir', your lordship might swim in it'? — [Here the judge 
interfered'.] 

Let no man dare', when I am dead', to charge me with dis- 
honour": let no man attaint my memory', by believing that 1 
could engage in any cause but that of my country's liberty and 
independence' ; or that I could become the pliant minion of 
power in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen' 
The proclamation of the provisional government speaks my 
views'; from which no inference can be tortured to countenance 
barbarity or debasement at home', or subjection', or humilia- 
tion', or treachery', from abroad'. I would not have submitted 
to a foreign invader, for the same reason that I would resist 
the domestick oppressor'. In the dignity of freedom', I would 
have fought upon the threshold of my country', and its enemy 
should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse'. And am 
/', who lived but for my country', who have subjected myself 
to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor' , and now 
to the bondage of the grave , only to give my countrymen their 
rights', and my country her independence', to be loaded with 
calumny' , and not suffered to resent and repel it'? No'; God 
forbid'! 

If the spirits of the illustrious dead', participate in the con- 
cerns and cares of those who were dear to them in this transi- 
tory life' — oh'! ever dear and venerated shade of my departed 
father', look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suf 
fering son', and see if I have', even for a moment', 11 deviated 
from those principles of morality and patriotism which it was 
your care to instil into my youthful mind', and for which I am 
now to offer up my life* 

My lords', you seem impatient for the sacrifice'. The blood 
for which you thirst', is not congealed by the artificial terrours 
which surround your victim': it circulates warmly and unruffled 
through the channels which God created for noble purposes', 
but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous , 
that they cry to Heaven'. 

Be yet patient'. I have but a few words more to say'. I am 
going to my cold and silent grave': my larrfy of life is nearly 
extinguished': my race is run': the grave opens to receive me'; 
and I sink into its bosom'. I have but one request to ask at 
my departure from this world': it is the charity of its silence'. 6 
Let no man write my epitaph' ; for', as no man who knows my 
motives', dares now vindicate them', let not prejudice nor igno- 
rance asperse them'. Let them and me repose in obscurity' 

"MA'mSnt— -not, md'mwnt. 'Pi'tre-ut-izm. c S&k're-fize d Si'ldnse. 



Chap. IV. brutus' harangue. 315 

and my tomb remain uninscribed', until other times and other 
men can do justice to my character'. When my country lakes 
her place among the nations of the earth', then, and not till 
then', let my epitaph be written 1 . 1 have done'. 



SECTION XIX. 
Brutus' Harangue on the Death of Cesar. — Shakspeare. 

Romans', countrymen', and lovers'! hear me for my cause'; 
and be silent, that you may hear'. Believe me for my honour'; 
and have respect to my honour', that you may believe'. Cen- 
sure me in your wisdom'; and awake your senses', that you 
may the better judge'. — If there is any in this assembly', any 
dear friend of Cesar's', to him I say', that Brutus' love to 
Cesar was no less than his'. If, then', that friend demand why 
Brutus rose against Cesar', this is my answer': Not that I loved 
Cesar less, but that I loved Rome more\ Had you rather 
Cesar were living , and die all slaves', than that Cesar were 
dead', to live all freemen'? — As Cesar loved me', I weep for 
him'; as he was fortunate', I rejoice at it'; as he was valiant' , 
I honour him'; but', as he was ambitious', I slew him'. There 
are Jears for his love', joy for his fortune", honour for his 
valour' , and death for his ambition'. — Who is here so base' , 
that he would be a bondman'? If any', speak'; for him I have 
offended'. Who is here so rude', that he would not be a Ro- 
man'? If any', speak'; for him I have offended'. — Who is 
here so vile', that he will not love his country'? If any', speak', 
for him I have offended". — I pause for a reply' 

None'! Then none have I offended'. I have done no more 
to Cesar , than you shall do to Brutus'. The question of his 
death is enrolled in the capitol'; his glory not extenuated', 
wherein he was worthy'; nor his offences enforced', for which 
he suffered death'. 

Here comes his body', mourned by Mark Antony'; who', 
though he had no hand in his death' , shall receive the benefit 
of his dying', a place in the commomvealth' ; as which of you 
shall not'? — With this', I depart' — and', as I slew my best lover 
for the good of Rome', I have the same dagger for myself, 
when it shall please my country to need my death'. 



316 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

SECTION XX. 
Antony 's Oration over Cesar^s Dead Body. — Siiakspeare 

Friends', Romans', countrymen'! Lend me your ears'. 
I come to bury Cesar', not to praise him'. 
The evil that men do', lives after them'; 
The good is oft interred with their bones': 
So let it be with Cesar'! Noble Brutus 
Hath told you', that Cesar was ambitious*. 
If it were so', it was a grievous fault'; 
And grievously hath Cesar answered it'. 
Here', under leave of Brutus and the rest', 
(For Brutus is an honourable man'; 
So are they all', all honourable men',) 
Come I to speak in Cesar's funeral'. 

He was my friend\ faithful and just to mo . 
But Brutus says', he was ambitious*; 
And Brutus is an honourable man'. 
He hath brought many captives home to-Rome', 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill 1 : 
Did this in Cesar seem ambitious'? 
When that the poor have cried', Cesar hath wepV. 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff'. 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious'; 
' And Brutus is an honourable man'. 
You all did see', that', on the Lupercal', 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown'; 
Which he did thrice refuse': Was this ambition'? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious'; 
And', sure', he is an honourable man'. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke'; 
But here I am', to speak what I do know*. 
You all did love him once'; not without cause*; — 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him'? 
O judgment'! Thou art fled to brutish beasts', 

And men have lost their reason'. Bear with me': 

My heart is in the coffin there with Cesar'; 
And I must pause till it come back to me'. 

But yesterday the word', Cesar', might 
Have stood against the world'! Now lies he there' 
And none so poor [as] to do him reverence'. 

Masters'! If 1 were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage', 

1 should do Brutus wrong', and Cassias wrong', 
Who', you all know', are honourable men'. 

I will not do them wrong' — I rather choose 
To wrong the dead\ to wrong myself and you', 
Than I will wrong such lionourable men'. 



Chap. IV. Antony's oration. 317 

But here's a parchment', with the seal of Cesar' 
I found it in his closet': 'tis his wilV. 
Let but the commons hear this testament!, 
(Which', pardon me', I do not mean to read',) 
And they would go ->nd kiss dead Cesar's wounds\ 
And d ; o their napkins : n his sacred blood 1 ; 
Yea', l^eg a hair of* him for memory', 
And', dying', mention it within their wills', 
Bequeathing it', as a rich legacy', 
Unto their issue'. 

If you have tears', prepare to shed them now" 1 . 
You all do know this mantle: I remember 
The first time ever Cesar put it on'; 
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent': 
That day he overcame the Xervii' — 
Look'! In this place ran Cassius , dagger through'— 

See what a rent the envious Casca made' 

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed'; 

And', as he plucked his cursed steel away', 

Mark how the blood of Cesar followed it'! 

This, this was the unkindest cut of all'! 

For when the noble Cesar saw him stab', 

Ingratitude', more strong than traitors arms', 

Quite vanquished him'! Then burst his mighty heart', 

And in his mantle muffling up his face', 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue', 

Which all the while ran blood',) great Cesar fell'. 

O', what a fall was there', my countrymen'! 

Then /', and you', and all of us', fell down', 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us'. 

, now you weep'; and I perceive you feel 
The dint of pity'! These are gracious drops'. 
Kind souls'! What", weep you when you but behold 
Our Cesar's vesture wounded? Look ye here'! — 
Here is himself 1 — marred', as you see', by traitors\ 

Good friends'! Sweet friends'! Let me not stir you up 
To any sudden flood of mutiny'. 
The}' that have done this deed, are honourable". 
What private griefs they have', alas', I know not', 
That made them do it'. They are wise and honourable', 
And will', no doubt', with reason answer you'. 

1 come not', friends', to steal away your hearts'! 
I am no orator', as Brutus is'; 

But', as you know me all', a plain', blunt man', 
That love my friend' — and that they know full well', 
That gave me publick leave to speak of him'! 
For I have neither wit', nor words', nor worth', 
Action', nor utterance', nor power of speech', 
To stir men's blood' — I only speak right on'. 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know' — 
Show you sweet Cesar's wounds', poor', poor', dumb mouthy, 
And bid them speak for me'. But', were T, Brutus', 
27* 



818 SELECTIONS IN TOETRY. 

And Brutus', Antony', there were* an Antony [that] 
Would ruffle up your spirits', and put a tongue 
In every wound of Cesar', that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny'. 



SECTION XXI. 

Speech of Henry the Fifth before the battle of Aginwurt. 

Shakspeare. 

Who's he that wishes more men from England'? 
My cousin Westmoreland'? No', my fair cousin': 
If we are marked to die', we are enough 
To do our country loss'; and if to live', 
The fewer men', the greater share of honour 1 . 
No', no', my lord'; wish not a man from England'. 
Rather proclaim it', Westmoreland', throughout my host', 
That he who hath no stomach for this fight', 
May straight depart'; his passport shall be made', 
And crowns', for convoy', put into his purse'. 
We would not die in that man's company'. 
This day is called the feast of Crispian'. 
He that outlives this day', and comes safe home', 
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named', 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian'. 
He that outlives this day', and sees old age', 
Will', yearly', on the vigil', feast his neighbours', 
And say', To-morrow is St. Crispian': 
Then will he strip his sleeve', and show his scars'. 
Old men forget', yet shall not ajl forget'; 
But they'll remember', with advantages',. 
What feats they did that day'. Then shall our names', 
Familiar in their mouths as household words', 
Harry the king', Bedford and Exeter', 
Warwick and Talbot', a Salisbury 1 ' and Gloucester', 
Be, in their flowing cups', freshly remembered'. 
This story shall the good man teach his son', 
And Crispian's day shall ne'er d go by', 
From this time to the ending of the world', 
But we and it shall be remembered'; . 

We few', we happy few', we band of brothers'; 
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me', 
Shall be my brother': be he e'er e so vile , 
This day shall gentle his condition'; 
And gentlemen in England', now abed', 
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here'; 
And hold their manhoods cheap', while any speaks 
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day'. 

aTdl'but. l S61z'ber-re. ^Glos'ter. ^Nire. ^ re . 
* Would be. grammat'raUy. 

AUG -113:4 



Chap. IV. the sailor-boy's dream. 319 

SECTION XXII. 

Last Parting of the three Indian Friends. — Moore. 

When shall we three meet again ? 
When shall we three meet again 7 
Oft shall glowing hope expire, 
Oft shall weary love retire, 

Oft shall death and sorrow reign, 

Ere a we three shall meet again. 

Tho' to distant lands we hie, 
Parched beneath a burning sky, 
Tho' the deep between us rolls, 
Friendship still unites our souls ; 

And, in fancy's wide domain, 

Oft shall we three meet again. 

When those burnished locks are gray, 
Thinned by many a toil-spent day, 
When around this youthful pine 
Moss shall creep and ivy twine, 

Long may this loved hour remain, 

Oft may we three meet again. 

When the dream of life is fled, 
When those wasting lamps are dead, 
When, in cold oblivion's shade, 
Utauty, wit, and power are laid, 

Where immortal spirits reign, 

There may we three meet again. 



SECTION XXIII. 
The Suilor-Boifs Dream. — Anonymous. 

In slu -ibera of midnight', the sailor-boy lay 1 ; 

IKs hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind 1 ; 
But watch-worn and weary', his cares flew away', 

And visions of happiness' . . danced o'er his mind\ 

He dreamed of his home', of his dear native bowers', 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn'; 

While memory stood sidewise ', half covered with flowers 
And restored every rose', but secreted its thorn*. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide', 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise': — 

Now', far', far behind nim the green waters glide', 
And the cot of his forefathers' . . blesses his eyes'. 

a ire. 



320 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

The jessamine' . . clambers in flowers o'er the thatch', 
And the swallow' . . sings sweet from her nest in the wall 

All trembling with transport', he raises the latch', 
And the voices of loved ones' . . reply to his call 1 . 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight*; 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear', 
And the lips of the boy'. . in a love-kiss unite' 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear' 

The heart of the sleeper' . . beats high in his breast'; 

Joy quickens his pulse 1 : — all hardships seem o'er', 
And a murmur of happiness' . . steals through his rest 1 — - 

" O God'! thou hast blessed me' — I ask for no more 1 ." 

Ah'! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye 1 ? 

Ah'! what is that sound which now larums his ear 1 ? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare', painting hell on the sky': 

'Tis the crash of the thunder', the groan of the sphere'. 

He springs from his hammock' — he flies to the deck'; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire' — 
Wild winds and mad waves', .drive the vessel awreck' — 

The masts fly in splinters' — the shrouds are on fire'! 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell'; 

In vain the lost wretch' . . calls on Mary to save'; 
Unseen hands of spirits' . . are ringing his knell', 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave'' 

Oh', sailor-boy'! wo to thy dream of delight'! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss' — 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright' — 

Thy parents' fond pleasures', and love's honeyed kiss'? 

Oh', sailor-boy'! sailor-boy'! never again 

Shall home', love', or kindred', thy wishes repay': 

Unblessed and unhonoured', down deep in the main', 
Full many a score fathom', thy frame shall decay'. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee', 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge'; 

But the white foam of waves' . . shall thy winding-sheet be', 
And winds in the midnight of winter', thy dirge'. 

On beds of green sea-flowers' . . thy limbs shall be laid'; 

Around thy white bones' . . the red coral shall grow'; 
Of thy fair yellow locks' . . threads of amber be made', 

And every part suit to thy mansion below'. 

Days', years', and ages', shall circle away', 

And still the vast waters' . . above thee shall roll': 

Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye' — 

Oh', sailor-boy'! sailor-boy'! peace to thy soul'. 



Chap. IV. cato's SOLILOQUY. 32] 

SECTION XXIV. 
Hamlefs Soliloqvy on Death. — Siiakspeare. 

To be' — or not to be' — that is the question'; 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune — 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles', 
And', by opposing', end them'? To die' — to sleep' — 
No more'? — and', by a sleep', to say we end 
The heart-ache', and the thousand natural shocks 
That fiesh is heir to': — 'Tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished'. To die' — to sleep' — 
To sleep 1 — perchance', to dream' — ay', there's the rub'-— 
For', in that sleep of death', what dreams may come', 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil', 
Must give us pause'. — There's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life'; 
For who could bear the whips and scorns of time', 
Th' oppressor's wrong', the proud man's contumely', 
The pangs of despised love', the law's delay', 
The insolence of office', and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes', 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin'? Who would fardels* bear', 
To groan and sweat under a weary life', 
But that the dread of something after death', 
(That undiscovered country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns',) puzzles the will', 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have', 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all', 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought'; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment', 
With this regard', their currents turn away', 
And lose the name of action'. 



SECTION XXV. 

Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul. — Addison 

It must be so': — Plato', thou reasonest well' — 
Else', whence this pleasing hope', this fond desire', 
This longing after immortality'? 
Or', whence mis secret dread' and inward horrour', 
Of falling into naught'? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself and startles at destruction'? 
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us', 
'Tis heav'n itself that points out a hereafter', 

* Fardel, oppressive burden. 



322 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

And intimates eternity to man', 

Eternity'! — Thou pleasing', dreadful thought'! 

Through what variety of untried being 1 , 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass'! — 

The wide', th' unbounded prospect lies before me': 

But shadows', clouds', and darkness rest upon it'. 

Here will I hold'. If there's a power above us', 

(And that there is', all nature cries aloud 

Through all her works',) he must delight in virtue 1 ; 

And that which he delights in', must be happy'. 

But when'? or where'? This world was made for Cesar 1 . 

I'm weary of conjectures' — this must end them'. 

[Laying his hand on his sword 
Thus I am doubly armed'. My death', and life \ 
My bane and antidote', are both before me'. 
This', in a moment', brings me to an end'; 
But this informs me I shall never die': 
The soul', secured in her existence', smiles 
At the drawn dagger', and defies its point'. 
The stars shall fade away', the sun himself 
Grow dim with age', and nature sink in years'; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth', 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements', 
The wreck of matter', and the crush of worlds'. 



SECTION XXVI. 
The Dying Christian to his Soul.— " >pe. 

Vital, spark of heavenly flame', 
Quit', oh quit', this mortal frame': 
Trembling', hoping', ling'ring', flying', 
Oh', the pain', the bliss', of dying'! 

Cease', fond nature', cease thy strife', 

And let me languish into life'. 

Hark'! they whisper': angels say', 
'Sister spirit', come away'.' 
What is this absorbs me quite'? 
Steals my senses', shuts my sight', 

Drowns my spirit', draws my breath'? 

Tell me', my soul', can this be death'? 

The world recedes': it disappears'! 
Heav'n opens on my eyes'! my ears' 

With sounds seraphick ring'! 
Lend', lend your wings'! I mount'! I fly 
O grave'! where is thy victory'? 

O death'! where is thy sting'? 



CHAPTER V. 



PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 

SECTION I. 
The Alhambra hy Moonlight.— Irving. 

I have given a picture of my apartment on my first taking 
possession* of it': a feAv evenings have produced a thorough 
change in the scene and in my feelings'. The moon', which 
.hen was invisible', has gradually gained upon the nights', and 
now rolls in full splendour above the towers', pouring a flood 
of tempered light into every court and hall 1 . The garden 
beneath my window', is gently lighted up'; the orange and citron 
trees', .are tipped with silver'; the fountain' 1 ', .sparkles in the 
moonbeams'; and even the blush of the rose'. . is faintly visible 1 . 

I have sat for hours at my window', inhaling the sweetness 
of the garden', and musing on the checkered features" of those 
whose history is dimly shadowed out in the elegant memorials 
around'. Sometimes I have issued forth at midnight'. . when 
every thing was quiet', and have wandered over the whole 
building'. Who can do justice to a moonlight night in such a 
climate', and in such a place'! The temperature of an Anda- 
lusian midnight in summer', is perfectly ethereal'. We seem 
lifted up into a purer atmosphere'; there is a serenity of soul', 
a buoyancy of spirits', an elasticity of frame', that render mere 
existence 1 ' 1 . . enjoyment'. The effect of moonlight', too', on the 
Alhambra', has something like enchantment' e . Every rent and 
chasm of time', every mouldering teint and weather-stain', dis- 
appears'; the marble resumes its original whiteness'; the long 
colonnades brighten in the moonbeams'; the halls are illumin- 
ated with a softened radiance'/ until the whole edifice reminds 
one of the enchanted palace of an Arabian tale'. At such a 
time', I have ascended to the little pavilion', called the queen's 
toilette', to enjoy its varied and extensive prospect'. To the 
right', the snowy summits of the Sierra Nevada', would gleam'. 

»P6z-z£sh'tin. L FMn'tln— not, fb&n'tn. c F£'tshurez. -■Eg-zist'&nse— 
not, ynse. e En-tshant'm£nt — not, munt. f Ra'd£-anse — not, unse. 



324 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

like silver clouds , against the darker firmament', and all the 
outlines of the mountain'. . would be softened', yet delicately 
denned'. My delight', however', would be to lean over the 
parapet of the Tocador', and gaze dow.i upon Granada', H spread 
out like a map below me': all buried in deep repose', and its 
white palaces and convents sleeping', as it were', in the moon- 
shine 1 . 

Sometimes I would hear the faint sounds of castanets from 
some party of dancers' . . lingering in the Alameda'; at other 
times', I have heard the dubious tones of a guitar', and the 
notes of a single voice' . . rising from some solitary street', and 
have pictured to myself some youthful cavalier', serenading his 
lady's window'; a gallant custom of former days', but now 
sadly on the decline', except in the remote towns and villages 
of Spain'. 

Such are the scenes that have detained me for many an hour', 
loitering about the courts and balconies of the castle', enjoying 
that mixture b of revery and sensation which steal away exist* 
ence c in a southern climate' — and it has been almost morning 
before I have retired to my bed', and been lulled to sleep by 
the falling waters of the fountain of Lindaraxa'. 



SECTION IT. 
Refections on the Moslem Domination in Spain. — lb. 

One of my favourite 3 resorts is the balcony of the central 
window of the Hall of Ambassadors', in the lofty tower of 
Comares'.* I have just been seated there', enjoying the close 
of a long', brilliant day'. The sun', as he sunk behind the 
purple mountains of Alhama', sent a stream of effulgence up 
the valley of the Darro , that spread a melancholy pomp over 
the ruddy towers of the Alhambra', while the Vega', covered 
with a slight', sultry vapour that caught the setting ray', seem- 
ed spread out in the distance 6 like a golden sea'. Not a breath 
of air disturbed the stillness f of the hour'; and though the faint 
sound of musick and merriment s now and then arose from the 
gardens of the Darro', it but rendered more impressive the 
monumental silence of the pile which overshadowed me'. It 

a Gran'a-da. 'Mlks'tsh&re — not, tshftr. c Egz-tst'ense— not, unse 

d Fa'vurlt. e Dls'tanse— not, disWise. 'StU'n£s — not, n is. ^M^r'r^'m^nt 

* One of the towers belonging to the Alhambra, the solendid fortified palace of 
the Moorish princes that formerly reigned in Granada. 



Chap. V. MOSLEM DOMINATION". 325 

was one of those hours and scenes in which memory asserts 
an almost magical power', and', like the evening sun' . .beam 
ing on these mouldering towers', sends back her retrospective 
rays to light up the glories of the past'. 

As I sat watching the effect of the declining daylight upon 
this Moorish pile', I was led into a consideration of the light 1 
elegant',* and voluptuous character prevalent throughout its 
internal architecture', b and to contrast it with the grand', but 
gloomy', solemnity of the Gothick edifices', reared by the Span- 
ish conquerors'. The very architecture 1 ' thus bespeaks the oppo- 
site and irreconcilable natures of the two warlike people whc 
so long battled here for the mastery of the Peninsula'. By 
degrees', I fell into a course of musing upon the singular fea- 
tures of the Arabian or Morisco Spaniards', whose whole exist- 
ence is as a tale that is told', and certainly forms one of the 
most anomalous', yet splendid', episodes in history'. Potent d 
and durable as was their dominion', we have no one distinct 
title by which to designate them'. They were a nation', as it 
were', 6 without a legitimate country or a name'. A remote 
wave of the great Arabian inundation', cast upon the shores of 
Europe', they seemed to have all the impetus of the first rush 
of the torrent 1 . Their course of conquest from the rock of 
Gibraltar to the cliffs of the Pyrenees', was as rapid and bril- 
liant as the Moslem victories of Syria and Egypt'. Nay', had 
they not been checked on the plains of Tours', all France', all 
Europe', might have been overrun with the same facility as the 
empires of the east'; and the crescent might', at this day', have 
glittered on the fanes of Paris and of London'. 

Repelled within the limits of the Pyrenees', the mixed hordes 
of Asia and Africa that formed this great irruption', gave up 
the Moslem principles of conquest', and sought to establish' in 
Spain a peaceful and permanent dominion'. As conquerors', 
their heroism was only equalled by their moderation'; and in 
both', for a time', they excelled the nations with whom they 
contended'. Severed from their native homes', they loved the 
land given them', as they supposed', by Allah', and strove to 
embellish it with everything that could administer to the happi- 
ness of man'. Laying the foundations of their power in a 
system" of wise and equitable laws', diligently cultivating the 
arts and sciences', and promoting agriculture', 11 manufactures' 
and commerce', they gradually formed an empire'. . unrivalled 

a El'£-gant — not, gunt l Ar'k£'t£k-tsruire — not, tshur. c Ni'tshurez — 
not, tsharz. d P6't£nt— not, tunt. , e WSr. f E-stab'llsh— not, Ss-teb'!ish 
*Sis't£m — not, turn. h Ag'ri 'kul-tshure. 

28 



326 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

for its prosperity', by any of the empires of Christendom'; ana 
diligently drawing round them the graces and refinements that 
marked the Arabian empire in the east at the time of its greatest 
civilization', they diffused the light of oriental knowledge through 
the western regions of benighted Europe 1 . 

The cities of Arabian Spain became the resort of Christian 
artisans', in which to instruct themselves in the useful arts*. 
The universities of Toledo'., Cordova 1 , Seville', and Granada', 
were sought by the pale student* from other lands', to acquaint 
himself with the sciences of the Arabs', and the treasured lore 
of antiquity'; the lovers of the gay sciences', resorted to Cor- 
dova and Granada', to imbibe the poetry and musick of the 
east'; and the steel-clad warrioursofthenorth'. . hastened thither 
to accomplish themselves in the graceful exercises and courteous 
usages of chivalry'. b 

If the Moslem monuments in Spain'; — if the Mosque of Cor- 
dova', the Alcazar of Seville', and the Alhambra of Granada', 
still bear inscriptions fondly boasting of the power and perma- 
nency of their dominion', can the boast be derided as arrogant 
and vain'? Generation after generation', century after century 
had passed away', and still they maintained possession of the 
land'. A period had elapsed' . . longer than that which has 
passed since England was subjugated by the Norman conquer- 
ors'; and the descendants of Musa and Tarik might as little 
anticipate being driven into exile across the same straits'. . 
traversed by their triumphant ancestors', as the descendants of 
Rollo and William', and their victorious peers', may dream of 
being driven back to the shores of Normandy'. 

With all this', however', the Moslem empire in Spain'. . was 
but a brilliant exotick that took no permanent root in the soil it 
embellished'. Secured from all their neighbours of the west 
by impassable barriers of d faith and manners', and separated 
by seas and deserts from c their kindred of d the east', they were 
an isolated people'. Their whole existence was a prolonged', 
though gallant' , and chivalrick struggle for" a foot-hold in ausurped 
land'. They were the outposts and frontiers of d Islamism'. 
The peninsula was the great battle-ground where the Gothick 
conquerors of a the north', and the Moslem conquerors of d the 
east', met and strove for" mastery'; and the fiery courage of d 
the Arab'. . was at length subdued by the obstinate and perse- 
vering valour of d the Goth'. 

Never was the annihilation of d a people more complete than 

»Sta'd£nt— not, dunt. b Tshfv'&l-re— not, shiv'&\-r£. c Fr6m— not 
from. d 6v — not, uv n*>r, of. e F6r — not, f?tr, nor, fr. 



Chap. V. ON HAND-WRITING. 327 

that of a the Morisco Spaniards'. Where are they'? Ask the 
shores of a Barbary and its desert places'. The exiled remnant 
of* their once powerful empire', disappeared among the barba- 
rians of Africa', and ceased to be a nation'. They have not 
even left a distinct name . . behind them', though for 1 ' nearly 
eight centuries they were a distinct people'. The home of their 
adoption and of a their occupation for' J ages', refuses to acknow- 
ledge them but as invaders and usurpers'. A few broken 
monuments'. . are all that remain to bear witness to their power 
and dominion', as solitary rocks left far in the interiour', bear 
testimony to the extent oP some vast inundation'. Such is the 
Alhambra': — a Moslem pile in the midst of a a Christian land'; — 
an oriental palace'. . amidst the Gothick edifices of a the west 1 .; — 
an elegant memento of a a brave', intelligent', and graceful peo- 
ple', who conquered', ruled', and passed away'. 



SECTION III. 
Thoughts on Hand-Writing. — Verplanck. 

Extract— from Bliss' Talisman, of 1828. 

When one has nothing which is actuallv new or interesting 
to say upon a subject', it is a question which very naturally 
suggests itself to the reader', why he writes about it at all'? 
I', therefore', suppose this question directed to myself*; and 
reply', with perfect honesty', that', in making such remarks as 
occur to me on the subject of chirography', I am fulfilling a 
promise', and also writing a preface' J to a story which I have 
to tell'. 

I have had reasons for meditating much on the mystery of 
hand- writings', though my reflections have resulted in no new 
discoveries'; and I have neither solved any of the paradoxes', 
nor come to a definite conclusion on any of the doubtful points 
with which the subject is pregnant'. The first difficulty which 
was suggested to my mind abou-t it', occurred in early child- 
hood'. I could not discover how the rapping of me over the 
knuckles with a long', round', lignum-vitse ruler', until those 
articulations were 6 discoloured and lame', was to assist me in 
using my fingers with ease and grace'-, in copying the pithy 
scraps of morality which were d set before me'. My master', 
however', seemed to think it was good for me'. The poor man 

a Ov — not, wv, nor, o/. L F6r — not, fur, nor,/r. c Sug-j£st\ d Pr£ff&s 



328 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

took a world of pains ', and gave me a great many', to very 
little purpose 1 . 

1 certainly never became a proficient in caligraphy'. I have 
however', in the course of my life*., been consoled for my own 
imperfections on this score', by observing scholars', statesmen',* 
and gentlemen at large', who passed very well in the world', 
and obtained professorships', outfits', and salaries', and the 
entree into polite society', whose signs manual were b hieroglyph- 
icks 1 , which Champollion himself would give up in despair'. 
Their whole manipulation', (as the learned would say',) with 
pen", ink', and paper', produced a result so utterly undecipher- 
able', that', instead of its ' painting thought', and speaking to 
the eyes',' if their secretaries or correspondents had not known 
what they wanted to say', or to have said for them', the persons 
interested in their despatches', might as well have been in the 
innocent situation of John Lump and Looney Mact waiter', when 
they had 'mixed the billy-duxes'.' 

I have known lawyers and doctors whose autographick out- 
pourings the solicitor and apothecary alone understood by pro- 
fessional instinct 1 : and yet', the bills in chancery of the former', 
fairly engrossed', produced suits that are net yet decided'; and 
the prescriptions of the latter', found their way into the patient's 
system', d and caused a great effect'. 

There is one thing', however', on which I have made up my 
mind decidedly'; which is', that one who writes so detestable a 
hand that he cannot read it himself, acts in an improper man- 
ner', and abuses the gift which Cadmus was good enough to 
introduce into Europe'. 

The character of my own writing seems somewhat amended 
since time has laid his frosty hand upon my head', and cramped 
the joints of my fingers'. It is less capricious in the variety of 
directions in which the letters run', and less luxuriant in gratui- 
tous additions to their tops and bottoms', arid natural termina- 
tions'. They look more like a platoon of regular troops', and 
less like a militia training'; more like an arrangement produced 
by the agency of human intellect', and less like -the irregular 
scratches made by the brute creation in the surface of the soil', 
so that I get along without any material difficulty', and have' 
indeed', been sometimes complimented on the elegance of my 
writing'. 

That the intellectual and moral character of a person may 
oe ascertained from his hand-writing', is a theory 6 which many 

»St£Wm£n — not, man. b Wfir. c L§rn'£d d Sls'tfim — not, sls'tJtm 
*YV*4'6-r£ — not, th&'er-k. 



Cfiap. V. ON HAND- WRITING. 329 

are fond of believing in": and', to a certain extent', it may be 
made to appear plausible'. 

The sex of the writer may be conjectured with more infalli- 
bility than any other attribute". 

" Tlie bridegroom"? letters stand in row above'. 
Tapering', yet straight', like pine trees in his grove'; 
Whiie free and rirse the bride's appear below', 
As light and slender as her jessamines grow.' 5 

Still', one cannot always tell from the appearance' of a manu< 
script , whether a lady or a gentleman has held the pen'. I had 
a female relative', who was a strong', stout-built woman', to be 
sure', but who wrote a hand so formidably masculine', that the 
only suiter that ever made her an offer', was terrified out of his 
negotiation by the first billet-doux he had the honour of receiv- 
ing from her'. He was a slender and delicately made man', 
and wrote a fine Italian hand 1 . 

Next to the sex', the age of the writer may be guessed at 
from the chirography', with most certainty 1 : but some people 
write a puerile hand all their lives'. The gravest maxims', the 
profoundest thoughts', the most abstruse reasonings', have some- 
times been originally imbodied in signs as fantastical as the 
scrawls made in sport by a child'. On the other hand', men of 
regular temperament', and methodical habits of business', will 
acquire a formed and deliberate character in their hand- writing', 
which is often not impaired until extreme age'. 

The nation', profession', and other accidental properties of a 
person', may also', perhaps', in a majority of instances', be 
discovered from his chirograph'. It is obvious', however', that 
there is no mystery in this which philosophy needs be invoked 
to elucidate'. Mr. Owen's doctrine of circumstances will explain 
it very satisfactorily". 

Some conceited people try to write as badly as they can', 
because they have heard', and believe', that it is a proof of 
genius'. While all admit', that this notion is altogether absurd', 
it is generally conceded that men of genius do write in a very 
obscure', infirm', or eccentrick character'; in illustration of 
which fact', a thousand instances might be adduced', such as 
Byron', and Chalmers', and Jeffrey', and Bonaparte', and so 
forth': — a goodly assortment in the same lot'! One thing is very 
certain', that they who write a great deal for the press' , will 
soon write very badlv': and it is by no means necessary to 
ascribe this circumstance to intellectual organization 1 . Bona- 
t>arte had no time', when dictating to six clerks at once', or 

a Ap-p£er' arise. 
28* 



330 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

when signing treaties on horseback' , to cultivate a clear running 
hand'. Distinguished as he was above -other men in his fame 
and in his fortunes', I believe we may also concede to him the 
honour of having written the worst', possible hand', deciphera- 
ble by human ingenuity'. And when we find', from the fac- 
similes of some of his early despatches', how abominably he 
spelled', as well as wrote', we are led to infer', that a defective 
education', and an eagle-eyed ambition which soon began to 
gaze too steadily at the sun', to regard the motes in the atmo- 
sphere', will sufficiently account for a matter of so small import 
ance to so great a man', without resorting to ' metaphysical did'' 
to account for his bad writing'. 

But to leave this droughty and prosing disquisition', I am 
minded to illustrate both the evils and the advantages of bad or 
illegible writing', by incidents 11 which have occurred', or are 
easily supposable', in real life'. My poor old master', against 
whose memory I cherish no malice', notwithstanding his fre 
quent fustigation of my youthful knuckles', when he despaired 
of my profiting', either by the unction of his precepts 1 , or the 
sore application of his ruler', endeavoured to frighten me into 
amendment by examples'. He composed for my use', a digested 
chronicle of casualties which had befallen those who perpetrated 
unseemly scrawls'; and after the manner of Swift', entitled his 
tract', " God's Revenge against Cacography'." I have long 
since lost the precious gift'; but I have not forgotten all the 
legends it contained'. 

The tale is old of the English gentleman b who had procured 
for his friend a situation in the service of the East India Com- 
pany', and who was put to unprofitable expense by misreading 
an epistle', in which the latter endeavoured to express his grati- 
tude'. "Having'," said the absentee', "been thus placed in a 
post where I am sure of a regular salary', and where I have it 
in my power', while I enjoy health', to lay up something every 
year to provide for the future', I am not unmindful of my bene- 
factor', and mean soon to send you an equivalent"" Such a 
villanous hand did this grateful Indian write', that the gentle- 
man b thought he meant soon to send him an elephant'. Accord- 
ingly', he erected a large outhouse for the unwieldy pet'; but 
never got any thing to put into it', except a little pot of sweet- 
meats', and an additional bundle of compliments'. 

Few who have read the newspapers', have not seen an anec- 
dote of an amateur of queer animals', who sent an order to 
Africa for two monkeys'. The word two , as he wrote it', so 

»In's£-d£nts — not, dwnts. l J£n'tl-m&n — not, man 



Chap. V. ON HAND-WRITING. 33i 

resembled the figures TOO', that his literal and single-minded 
agent* was somewhat perplexed in executing this commission', 
as it compelled him to make war on the whole nation'. And 
great was the naturalist's surprise and perplexity, when he re- 
ceived a letter', informing him', in mercantile phraseology', that 
80 monkeys had been shipped', as per copy of the bill of lading 
enclosed', and that his correspondent hoped to be able to execute 
the rest of the order in time for the next vessel'. 

Many', too', must have read a story which appeared in the 
English newspapers', a few months since', of the distressful 
predicament into which a poor fisherman's wife was thrown by 
the receipt of a letter from her husband', who had been absent 
from home', with several of his brethren', beyond the ordinary 
time .•The honest man stated', in piscatorial phrase', the causes 
of his detention', and what luck he had met with in his fishing'. 
But the conclusion of his bulletin', as spelled by his loving', 
amphibious helpmate', was as follows 1 : ' i am no more'!' The 
poor woman gazed awhile on this fatal', official- intelligence of 
her husband's demise', and then on her eleven now fatherless 
infants'; and then she burst into a paroxysm of clamorous 
sorrow', which drew around her the consorts of seventeen other 
fishermen who had departed in company with the deceased 
man'. None of them could read'; but they caught from the 
widow's broken lamentations', the contents of the supernatural 
postscript'; and taking it for granted', that they had all been 
served in the same manner by the treacherous element', they 
all lifted up their voices', and the corners of their aprons', and 
made an ululation worthy of so many forsaken mermaids'. In 
the words of the poet', they made " 'igh water in the sea'," on 
whose margin they stood'; when one of the overseers of the 
poor', who came to the spot', alarmed by the rumour that the 
parish was like to be burdened with eighteen new widows', and 
a hundred and odd parcel of orphans', snatched the letter from 
the weeping Thetis', and silenced the grief of the company', by 
making out its conclusion correctly', which was', ' I add no 
more'.'' 

There is a memorable passage in our annals', which must be 
familiar to those who have read the old chronicles and records 
of our early', colonial history'. I allude to the consternation 
into which the General Court of the Massachusetts', and their 
associated settlements', were thrown', when their clerk read to 
them a letter from a worthy divine', purporting', that he address- 
ed them', not as magistrates', but as a set of Indian Devils'* 

•A'jSnt. 



332 SELECTIONS IW PROSE. 

The norrour-stncken official paused in his prelection', aghast 
as was the clerk in England' — for whose proper psalm a wag 
had substituted ' Chevy Chase',' — when he came to the words', 
' woiul hunting'.' He looked at the manuscript again', and 
after a thorough examination', exclaimed', " yea'! it is Indian 
Devils'." A burst of indignation from the grave Sanhedrim' 
long', loud', and deep', followed this declaration'. They 
would all have better brooked to be called by the name of 
Baptists', Papists', or any other pestilent hereticks', than to be 
branded as the very heathen', whom they had themselves never 
scrupled to compliment by calling them children of Beelzebub'. 
If I remember aright', the venerable Cotton Mather notes', in 
his biographies of the eminent divines of his day', that the 
innocent offender was', in this instance', roughly handled by 
the secular arm of justice', for insulting the dignitaries both of 
church and state', before he had an opportunity of convincing 
his brother dignitaries', that the offensive epithet', Indian Devils', 
was a pure mistake in their manner of reading his epistle'; in- 
asmuch as he had meant to employ the more harmless phrase', 
Individvals\ The apology was accepted'; though', I observe', 
that the latter word is', at present', deemed impolite', if not 
actionable', in Kentucky'; and is as provoking to a citizen of 
that state', as it was to dame Quickly to be called a woman', 
and a thing to thank God on', by Sir John Falstaff'. 



SECTION IV. 
The Monk, — Sterne. 

A poor MojiJc of the order of St. Francis', came into tne 
room to beg something for his convent". The moment I cast 
my eyes upon him', I was determined not to give him a single 
sons'; and', accordingly', I put my purse into my pocket', but- 
toned it up', set myself a little more upon my centre', and ad- 
vanced gravely up to him'. There was something', I fear', 
forbiddino- in my look'. I have his picture this moment before 
my eyes', and think there was that in it which deserves better'. 

The Monk', as I judged from the break in his tonsure', (a few 
scattered white hairs upon his temples being all that remained 
of it',) might be about seventy',- but from his eyes', and that 
sort of fire that was in them', which seemed more tempered by 
courtesy than years', could be no more than sixty'. — Truth 
might, He between'. He was certainly sixty -five' ; and the gen 



Chap. V. THE MONK. 

eral air of his countenance', notwithstanding something seemed 
to have been planting wrinkles in it before their time', agreed to 
the account 1 . 

It was one of those heads which Guido has often painted - 
mild', pale', penetrating 1 ; free from all common-place ideas of 
fat', contented ignorance', looking downwards upon the earth'. 
It looked forward"; but looked as if it beheld something be- 
yond this world 1 . How one of his order came by it', heaven 
above', who let it fall upon a Monk's shoulders', best knows'; 
but it would have suited a Bram'uV ; and had I met it upon the 
plains of Hindostan', I had reverenced it'. 

The rest of his outline may be given in a few strokes': it 
might be put into the hands of any one to design"; for it was 
neither elegant', nor otherwise", but as character and expression 
made it so'. It was a thin', spare form', somewhat above the 
common size 1 , if it lost not the distinction by a bend forward 
in the figure' — but this was the attitude of entreaty"; and as it 
now stands present to my imagination', it gains more than it 
loses by it 1 . 

When he had entered the room three paces', he stood still 1 ; 
and laying his left hand upon his breast', (a slender', white 
staff with which he journeyed', being in his right',) when I had 
got close up to him', he introduced himself with the little story 
of the wants of his convent', and the poverty of his order 1 ; and 
did it with so simple a grace', and such an air of deprecation 
was there in the whole cast of his look and figure', — that I must 
have been bewitched' . . not to have been struck with it 1 . A 
better reason was', I had predetermined not to give him a single 
sous'. 

Tis very true'', said I', replying to a cast upwards with his 
eyes', with which he had concluded his address' — 'tis very true"; 
and Heaven be their resource', who have no other than the 
charity of the world'; the stock of which', I fear', is no way 
sufficient for the many great claims that are hourly made 
upon it 1 . 

As I pronounced the words great claims', he gave a slight 
glance with his eyes downwards upon the sleeve of his tunick 1 . 
— I felt the full force of the appeal 1 . — I acknowledge it', said 
I' — a coarse habit', and that but once in three years', with a 
meager diet' , are no great matters ; but the true point of pity 
considers that the comforts of life can be earned in the world 
with but little industry', and that your order wishes to procure 
them by pressing upon a fund which is the property of the 
lame 1 , the blind 1 , the aged', and the infirm 1 ; — the captive', who 



}34 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

lies down counting over and over again the days of his afflic- 
tion', languishes also for his share of it 1 . Had you been of the 
order of mercy', instead of the order of St. Francis' , poor as 
I am', continued I', pointing to my portmanteau', full cheerfully 
should it have been opened to you for the ransom of the unfor- 
tunate'. The monk made me a bow'. But', resumed I*. the 
unfortunate of our own country', surely have the first rights 1 
and I have left thousands in distress upon the English shore 1 
The Monk gave a cordial wave with his head', as much as t< 
say', ' No doubt'; there is misery enough in every corner ol 
the world', as well as within our convent'.' But we distinguish' 
said I', laying my hand upon the sleeve of his tunick', in return 
for his appeal', we distinguish', my good father', betwixt those 
who wish only to eat the bread of their own labour', and those 
who eat the bread of other people's', and have no other plan in 
life than to get through it in sloth and ignorance for the love 
of God'! 

The poor Franciscan made no reply'; a hectick of a moment 
passed across his cheek', but it could not tarry'. Nature 
seemed to have done with her resentments in him'. He showed 
none 1 , but letting his staff fall within his arm', he pressed both 
his hands on his breast with resignation', and retired'. 

My heart smote me the moment he shut the door'. — Pshaw'/ 
said T, with an air of carelessness', three several times'. But 
it would not do': — every ungracious syllable I had uttered', 
crowded back upon my imagination'. I reflected that I had no 
right over the poor Franciscan but to deny him'; and that the 
punishment of that was enough to the disappointed', without 
the addition of unkind language' . I considered his gray hairs'; 
his courteous figure seemed to re-enter' , and gently ask me', 
what injury he had done me', and why I could use him thus'? 
I would have given twenty livres for an advocate'. — I have be- 
haved very ill', said I within myself; but I have only just set 
out upon -my travels', and shall learn better manners as I get 
along'. 



SECTION V. 
Story of Le Fever. — Sterne. 



It was some time in the summer of that year in which Den 
dermond was taken by the allies', when my uncle Toby was 
one evening getting his supper', with Trim sitting behind him 
at a small sideboard' — I say', sitting', for', in consideration of 



Chap. V. STORY OF LE FEVER. 335 

the corporal's lame knee', (which sometimes gave him exquisite 
jmiri) when my uncle Toby dined or supped alone', he would 
never suffer the corporal to stand': and the poor fellow's vene- 
ration for his master was such', that', with a proper artillery', 
my uncle Toby could have taken Dendermond itself" , with less 
trouble than he was at to gain this point over him*: for many a 
time when my uncle Toby supposed the corporal's leg was at 
rest', he would look back', and detect him standing behind him', 
with the most dutiful respect'. This bred more little squabbles 
betwixt them', than all other causes', for five and twenty years 
together'. 

He was one evening sitting thus at his supper', when the 
landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour', with 
an empty vial in his hand', to beg a glass or two of sack': 'Tis 
for a poor gentleman' — I think', of the army", said the land- 
lord', who was taken ill at my house four days ago', and has 
never held up his head since 1 , or had a desire to taste anything 
till just now', that he had a fancy for a glass of sack', and a 
thin toast'. — "I think," says he', taking his hand from his 
forehead' — "it would comfort me'." — If I could neither beg 1 , 
borrow', nor buy such a thing', added the landlord', I would 
almost steal it for the poor gentleman', he is so UV — I hope he 
will still mend', continued he', — -we are all of us concerned 
for him'. 

Thou art a good-natured soul', I will answer for thee', cried 
my uncle Toby'; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's 
health in a glass of sack thyself — and take a couple of bot- 
tles', with my service', and tell him he is heartily welcome to 
them', and to a dozen more", if they will do him good'. 

Though I am persuaded', said my uncle Toby', as the land- 
lord shut the door', he is a very compassionate fellow', Trim', 
yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too". 
There must be something more than common in him", that', in 
so short a time', should win so much upon the affections of his 
host' — and of his whole family", added the corporal', for they 
are all concerned for him'. — Step after him', said my uncle 
Toby'^-do', Trim', and ask if he knows his name". 

I have quite forgotten it', truly', said the landlord', coming 
back into the parlour with the corporal'; but I can ask his son 
again'. — Has he a son with him', then'? said my uncle Toby'. 
— A boy', replied the landlord', of about eleven or twelve years 
of age'; but the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his 
father". He does nothing but mourn and lament for him night 
and uav'. He has not stirred from the bed-side these two days 



336 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork', and thrust his 
plate from before him', as the landlord gave him the account', 
and Trim', without being ordered', took them away', without 
saying one word', and in a few minutes after', brought him his 
pipe and tobacco'. 

Trim! said my uncle Toby', I have a project in my head', 
as it is a bad night', of wrapping myself up warm in my 
roquelaure', and paying a visit to this poor gentleman'. — Your 
honour's roquelaure', replied the corporal', has not once been 
had on since the night before your honour received your wound', 
when we mounted guard in the trenches before the gate of St. 
Nicholas'; and besides', it is so cold and rainy a night', that', 
what with the roquelaure'! and what with the weather'! it will 
be enough to give your honour your death'. I fear so', replied 
my uncle Toby"; but I am not at rest in my mind', Trim', since 
the account the landlord has given me' — I wish I had not known 
so much of this affair', added my uncle Toby', or', that I had 
known more of it'. How shall we mo.nage it'] Leave it', an't 
plense your honour', to me', quoth the corporal'. I'll take my 
hat and stick', and go to the house', and reconnoitre' , and act 
accordingly': and I will bring your honour a full account in an 
hour'. Thou shalt go', Trim', said my uncle Toby'; and here's 
a shilling for thee to drink with his servant'. I shall get it all 
out of him', said the corporal', shutting the door'. 

It was not till my uncle Toby had knocked the ashes out of 
his third pipe', that corporal Trim returned from the inn', and 
gave him the following account': — 

I despaired', at first', said the corporal', of being able to bring 
back your honour any kind of intelligence concerning the poor 
sick lieutenant' — Is he of the army', then'? said my uncle 
Toby'. — He is', said the corporal' — And in what regiment'? 
said my uncle Toby' — I'll tell your honour', replied the cor- 
poral', every thing straight forward', as I learned it'. — Then', 
Trim', I'll fill another pipe', said my uncle Toby', and not in- 
terrupt thee'. So sit down at thy ease , Trim', in the window 
seat', and begin thy story again. The corporal made his old 
bow', which generally spoke', as plainly as a bow could speak it' 
" Your honour is good';" and having done that', he sat down', 
as he was ordered', and began the story to my uncle Toby over 
again', in pretty nearly the same words'. 

J despaired', at first', said the corporal', of being able to bring 
back any intelligence to your honour', about the lieutenant and 
his son': for when I asked where his servant was', from whom 
[made myself sure of knowing every thing that was proper to 



Chap. V. STORY OF LE FEVER. 337 

be asked' — That's a right distinction', Trim', said my uncle 
Toby' — I was answered', an't please your honour', that he had 
no servant with him 1 : — that he had come to the inn with hired 
horses'; which', upon finding himself unable to proceed', (to 
join the regiment', I suppose',) he had dismissed the morning 
after he came'. If I get better', my dear', said he', as he gave 
his purse to his son to pay the man', we can hire horses from 
hence'. But', alas'! the poor gentleman will never get from 
hence', said the landlady to me', for I heard the death-watch all 
night long' — and when he dies', the youth', his son', will cer- 
tainly die with him'; for he is broken-hearted already'. 

I was hearing this account', continued the corporal', when the 
youth came into the kitchen', to order the thin toast ttS land- 
lord spoke of: — but I will do it for my father myself, said the 
youth'. Pray let me save you the trouble', young gentleman', 
said I', taking up a fork for the purpose', and offering him my 
chair to sit down upon by the fire', whilst I did it'. I believe', 
Sir', said he', very modestly', I can please him best myself". — I 
am sure', said I', his honour will not like the toast the worse for 
being toasted by an old soldier' . The youth took hold of my 
hand', and instantly burst into tears". Poor youth'! said my 
uncle Toby'; he has been bred up from an infant in the army' , 
and the name of a soldier' , Trim', sounded in his ears', like the 
name of a friend". I wish I had him here' . 

I never', in the longest march', said the corporal', had so 
great a mind to my dinner', as I had to cry with him for com- 
pany". What could be the matter with me', an't please your 
honour'] Nothing in the world', Trim', said my uncle Toby', 
blowing his nose'- — but that thou art a good-natured fellow'. 

When I gave him the toast', continued the corporal', I thought 
it was proper to tell him I was Captain Shandy's servant", and 
that your honour', though a stranger', was extremely concernea 
for his father"; and that', if there was any thing in your house 
or cellar' — (and thou mightst have added my purse too', said 
my uncle Toby') — he was heartily welcome to it'. He made a 
very low bow', (which was meant to your honour',) but no an- 
swer"; for his heart was full'; so he went up stairs with the 
toast'. I warrant you', my dear', said I', as I opened the 
kitchen door', your father will be well again'. Mr. Yorick's 
curate was smoking a pipe by the kitchen fire', but said not a 
word", good or bad', to comfort the youth'. I thought it 
wrong", added the corporal' — I think so too", said my uncle 
Toby'. 

When the lieutenant had taken his glass of sack', and his 
29 



338 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

toast', he felt himself a little revived', and sent down into the 
kitchen to let me know', that', in about ten minutes', he should 
be glad if I would step up stairs'. — I believe', said the landlord', 
he is going to say his prayers 1 , for there was a book laid upon 
the chair', by his bed side 1 ; and as I shut the door', I saw his 
son take up a cushion 1 . 

I thought', said the curate', that you gentlemen of the army', 
Mr. Trim', never said your prayers at all'. I heard the poor 
gentleman say his prayers last night', said the landlady', very 
devoutly', and with my own ears', or I could not have believed 
it 1 . Are you sure of it'? replied the curate'. A soldier', an't 
please your reverence', said I', prays as often' (of his own ac- 
cord) as a parson'; and when he is fighting for his king', and 
for his own life', and for his honour too 1 , he has the most reason 
to pray to God of any one in the whole world'. 'Twas well 
said of thee 1 , Trim', said my uncle Toby', — but when a soldier', 
said I', an't please your reverence', has been standing for twelve 
hours together in the trenches', up to his knees in cold water , 
or engaged', said F, for months together', in long and dangerous 
marches' : harassed', perhaps', in his rear to-day'; 'harassing 
others to-morrow' ;— detached here' ; countermanded tl\ere' ; — 
resting this night out upon his arms 1 — beat up in his sleep the 
next 1 — benumbed in his joints 1 — perhaps without straw in his 
tent to kneel on' — he must say his prayers how and when he 
can\ — I believe', said I' — for I was piqued ', quoth the corporal', 
for the reputation of the army' — I believe', an't please your 
reverence', said I', that when a soldier gets time to pray', he 
prays as heartily as a parson', though not with all his fuss and 
hypocrisy' . — Thou shouldest not have said that', Trim', said my 
uncle Toby,' for God only knows who is a hypocrite' , and who 
is not'. At the great and general review of us all', corporal', — 
at the day of judgment', (and not till then') — it will be seen 
who have done their duties in this world', and who have not 1 ; 
and we shall be advanced', Trim', accordingly'. I hope we 
shall', said Trim 1 . — It is in the scripture', said my uncle Toby 1 ; 
and I will show it thee to-morrow 1 : In the mean time', we may 
depend' upon it', Trim', for our comfort', said my uncle Toby', 
that God Almighty is so good and just a governour of the world', 
that', if we shall have but done our duties in it', it will never be 
inquired into', whether we have done them in a red coat or a 
black one 1 : — I hope not', said the corporal 1 . — But go on', Trim', 
said my uncle Toby', with the story'. 

When I went up', continued the corporal', into the Lieuten- 
ant's room', (which I did not do till the expiration of the ten 



Chap. V. STORY OF LE FEVER. 339 

minutes',) he was lying in his bed', with his head raised upon 
his hand 1 , his elbow upon the pillow', And a clean white cam- 
brick handkerchief beside it 1 . The youth was just stooping 
down to take up the cushion upon which I supposed he had been 
kneeling', the book was laid upon the bed', and', as he rose', in 
taking up the cushion with one hand', he reached out his other 
to take the book away at the same time'. Let it remain there^ 
my dear', said the Lieutenant'. 

He did not <)ffer to speak to me', till I had walked up close 
to his bed-side': If you are Captain Shandy's servant', said he', 
you must present my thanks to your master', with my little 
boy's thanks along with them', for his courtesy to me': — if 
he was of Levels' — said the Lieutenant'. — I told him your 
honour was' — then', said he', I served three campaigns with 
him in Flanders', and remember him 1 ; but it is most likely', as 
I had not the honour of any acquaintance with him', that he 
knows nothing of me'. You will tell him', however', that the 
person his good nature has laid under obligations to him', is one 
Le Fever', a Lieutenant in Angus's' — but he knows me not y 
— said he a second time', musing': — possibly he may my story' 
— added he' — pray tell the Captain', I was the Ensign at Bre- 
da', whose wife was most unfortunately killed with a musket- 
shot', as she lay in my arms in my tent'. — I remember the 
story', an't please your honour', said I', very well'. Do you 
so'? said he', wiping his eyes with his handkerchief — then well 
may I\ — In saying this', he drew a little ring out of his 
bosom', which seemed tied with a black riband about his neck', 
and kissed it twice'. — Here', Billy', said he' — the boy flew 
across the room to the bed-side', and falling down upon his 
knee', took the ring in his hand', and kissed it too', then kissed 
his father', and sat down upon the bed and wept'. 

I wish', said my uncle Toby', with a deep sigh' — I wish' 
Trim', ... I was asleep'. 

Your honour', replied the corporal', is too much concerned'. 
Shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe"? 
Do, Trim', said my uncle Toby'. 

I remember', said my uncle Toby', sighing again', the story 
of the ensign and his wife', and particularly well', that he', as 
well as she', upon some account or other', (I forget what',) was 
universally pitied by the whole regiment'; but finish the story 
'Tis finished already , said the corporal', for I could stay no 
longer 1 1 so I wished his honour a good night'. Young Le Fever 
rose from off the bed', and saw me to the bottom of the stairs'; 
and as we went down together', told me they had come from 



340 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

Ireland', and were on their route to join the regiment in Flan- 
ders'. But', alas'! said the corporal', the Lieutenant's last day's 
march is over'. Then what is to become of his poor boy"! 
cried my uncle Toby'. 

Thou hast left this matter short', said my uncle Toby to the 
corporal', as he was putting him to bed', and I will tell thee in 
what", Trim*. In the first place', when thou madest an offer of 
my services to Le Fever', as sickness and travelling are both 
expensive', and thou knewest he was but a poor Lieutenant', 
with a son to subsist', as well as himself, out of his pay', that 
thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse'; because', 
had he stood in need', thou knowest', Trim', he had been as 
welcome to it as myself". Your honour knows', said the cor- 
poral', I had no orders". Trite", quoth my uncle Toby'; thou 
didst very right', Trim', as a soldier', but', certainly', very 
wrong', as a man 1 . 

In the second place', for which', indeed', thou hast the same 
excuse', continued my uncle Toby', when thou offeredst him 
whatever was in my house', thou shouldst have offered him my 
house too". A sick brother officer' . . should have the best quar- 
ters', Trim'; and if we had him with us', we could tend and 
look to him'. Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim'; and 
what with thy care of him', and the old woman's', and his 
boy's', and mine together' , we might recruit him again at once\ 
and set him upon his legs'. 

In a fortnight or three weeks', added my uncle Toby', 
smiling', he might march". He will never march', an't please 
your honour', in this world', said the corporal'. He will march', 
said my uncle Toby', rising up from the side of the bed', with 
one shoe off'. An't please your honour', said the corporal', he 
will never march' . . but to his grave' . He shall march 1 , cried 
my uncle Toby', marching the foot which had a shoe on', 
though without advancing an inch': he shall march to his regi- 
ment". He cannot stand it 1 , said the corporal'. He shall be 
supported", said my uncle Toby'. He'll drop at last', said the 
corporal', and what will become of his boy"? He shall not 
drop', said my uncle Toby', firmly'. A well o'day'! do what 
we can for him', said Trim', maintaining his point': the poor 

soul will die. He shall NOT die', by H n', cried my uncle 

Toby'. 

The Accusing Spirit', which flew up to Heaven's chancery 
with the oath', blushed as he gave it in'; and the Recording 
Angel', as he wrote it down', dropped a tear upon the word', 
and blotted it out forever'. 



Chap. V. story of le fever. 34; 

My uncle Toby went lo his bureau', put his purse into his 
pocket', and having ordered the corporal to go early in the 
morning for a physician', he went to bed and fell asleep . 

The sun looked bright the morning after', to every eye in the 
village but Le Fever's and his afflicted son's'; the hand of death 
pressed heavy upon his eyelids', and hardly could the wheel at 
the cistern turn round its circle', when my uncle Toby', who 
had got up an hour before his wonted time', entered the Lieu- 
tenant's room', and', without preface or apology', sat himself 
down upon the chair by the bed-side 1 ; and independent of all 
modes and customs', opened the curtain', in the manner an old 
friend and brother officer would have done it', and asked him 
how he did' — how he had rested in the night' — what was his 
complaint" — where was his pain' — and what he could do to 
help him'? And without giving him time to answer any one 
of these inquiries', went on and told him of the little plan which 
he had been concerting for him', with the corporal', the night 
before'. 

You shall go home directly', Le Fever', said my uncle Toby', 
to my house' — and we '11 send for a doctor to see what's the 
matter' — and we'll have an apothecary' — and the corporal 
shall be your nurse , and I'll be your servant', Le Fever 1 . 

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby' — not the effect 
of familiarity', but the cause of it' — which let you at once into 
his soul', and showed you the goodness of his nature': to this', 
there was something in his looks', and voice', and manner', 
superadded', which always beckoned to the unfortunate to come 
and take shelter under him'; so that before my uncle Toby had 
half finished the kind offers he was making to the father', the 
son had insensibly pressed up close to his knees', and had taken 
hold of the breastof his coat', and was pulling it towards him'. 
The blood and spirit of Le Fever', which were waxing cold and 
slow within him', and were retreating to their last citadel', the 
heart', rallied back' — the film forsook his eyes for a moment' — 
he looked up wistfully in my uncle Toby's face' — -then cast a 
look upon his boy'. 

Nature instantly ebbed again 1 — the film returned to its place' 
— the pulse fluttered' — stopped' — went on' — throbbed' — stopped 
again' — moved' — stopped' — shall I go on'? — No'. 
29* 



342 SELECTIONS IN PROSE* 

SECTION VI. 

Advantages of a Civilized, over a Savage, State. — Spurzheim. 

It has been asked', whether intelligence or ignorance is the 
more conducive to happiness . A few observations will prove' 
that education is highly calculated to promote civilization ; and', 
also', where well conducted', to improve both the body and the 
mind\ V/hat a difference do we perceive in the conduct of va- 
rious nations', by observing them through the different periods 
of their improvement' ! The history of every nation in its bar- 
barous state', is sullied with accounts of assassinations', par- 
ricides', incest', and violation of the most sacred oaths'. The 
selfish passions appear then to wield an overwhelming power' ; 
and all enjoyments spring from the gratification of the lower 
propensities'. 

In periods of ignorance', too', every nation confines moral 
virtue to itself, and considers the rest of mankind as destined to 
be its prey'. Legislation', corresponding with the national 
character', is sanguinary', and capital punishment', frequent', 
Nay', it falls not on criminals alone', but', also', on their rela- 
tives', and on whole districts'. Their religion is founded in 
terrour' ; their gods are endowed with all the lower feelings 
and affections', such as selfishness', jealousy', anger', and fond- 
ness of extravagant actions and expiatory sacrifices'. If they 
hope for immortality', the scenes of happiness which they ex- 
pect', are conformable to their actual feelings'; such as tri- 
umphing over their enemies', and the gratification of low pas 
sions and sensual pleasures'. Their leading tendency of mind', 
is atrocity' ; and most of their actions', are but a series of hor- 
rid crimes'. 

I doubt whether they who consider the savage state so 
worthy of commendation', would be disposed to give up the 
comforts of civilization', and be satisfied with the food', cloth- 
ing', habitations', and accommodations of barbarians' ; — whether 
they would prefer nuts', acorns', roots', insects', and other loath- 
some animals', to the preparations of a skilful cookery' ; — 
whether they would be better pleased with clothes made of the 
skins of animals', of leaves', or of grass', than with woollen', 
cotton', linen', or silk habiliments' ; — whether they would like to 
exchange our comfortable rooms for a hollow tree', the cavity of 
a rock', a den under ground', or a hut of reeds', or of turf and 
branches of trees' ; — whether', in short', they would seriously 
think the rough attempts cr" savages at painting and sculpture', 
equal to the statues of Phidias', and the paintings of Raphael'. 



Chap. V. CHRISTIANITY AND PAGANISM. 343 

Tn tracing the history of mankind', it may be observed', that', 
in proportion as nations cultivate their moral and intellectual 
powers', brutal actions and atrocious crimes are diminished 
both in number and quality', the manners and pleasures become 
refined', legislation', milder', religion', purified and freed from 
superstition', and that science and the arts address themselves to 
the finer emotions and affections of the mind\ 



SECTION VII. 

Superiority of Christianity over Paganism.— ib. 

Savages . . commonly believe in polytheism", and consider ali 
superiour beings' . . as malevolent, and worship them through 
fear. People in a more cultivated state', admit of superiour 
beings of a mixed nature', like men. The gods of the Greeks', 
for example', were supposed to be endowed with human pas- 
sions and feelings'. They required food', drink', and sleep'. 
Even Jupiter\thf> greatest oLall\ was subject to the frailties of 
human nature' ; lie was often jealous', artful', cruel', and impla- 
cable'. He had overturned every thing in heaven', and com- 
pelled the other gods to be his slaves'. 

The gods of the Romans", were no less ignoble'. They were 
selfish and mercenary' : — could be bribed with fine temples', 
games', and sacrifices'. 

Nations a little advanced in learning', have divided invisible 
beings into benevolent and malevolent. Others have admitted 
two general principles', the one', benevolent', the other', malev- 
olent' ; and have also acknowledged many infcriour deities', as 
emanations from the primitive ones'. 

Those', again', of more cultivated minds', believe in one stir 
premc, benevolent Deity'; and', likewise', in inferiour spirits', 
some benevolent', others malevolent'. . But the most enlighten- 
ed' . . acknowledge only one Supreme Being', infinite in wisdom 
and perfection', and the Creator of all things'. 

Modes of worship" . . deserve', also', particular consideration 
in the history of man'. These', .are always conformable to 
the notions entertained of the nature and character of the deity 
adored'. In order to avert the wrath of the malevolent powers', 
and to please them', men have made themselves as miserable as 
possible' — by mortifications', by flagellations', by painful exer- 
tions and severe labours', by the offering up of sacred victims 
and human sacrifices', and even by suicides'. To gain the fa 
vour of manlike gods', sweet-smelling herbs', burning incense' 



S4i SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

oblations', and gifts', agreeable impressions on the senses', cer- 
emonies which illustrate a prince at court', and various other 
formalities', have been employed'. 

If we compare the absurdities of paganism', or even the bet- 
ter doctrines of Judaism \ with the pure and sublime principles 
of Christianity' , we cannot but perceive,' that the last-mention- 
ed' . . are vastly superiour. The Jewish dispensation', indeed', 
may be viewed as accommodated', in some good degree', to the 
peculiar condition of the Jews", who were a hard-hearted', stiff- 
necked', stubborn race' ; but', when contrasted with paganism', 
how generous and noble do the principles of Christianity ap- 
pear' ! They prohibit anger", hatred!, and revenge* ; and en- 
join upon us not to return evil for evil\ They command for- 
giveness of every offence' . . seven times in a day, and', if asked 
for', seventy times seven . They require us to love our enemies', 
to bless them that curse us', and to do good to them that hate 
us\ They interdict all selfish passions', and declare every one 
to be our neighbour . ■ 

The New Covenant was made for the whole of mankind". 
Our Saviour asked drink of a woman of Samaria', when ihe 
Jews had no dealings with her nation'. He associated with 
Jews and Gentiles ; ate with publicans and sinners* ; and de- 
clared him', only', who did the will of his heavenly Father', to 
be his mother', his sister', or brother'. 

Before the Christian dispensation', empires were founded by 
the sword', and by the most cruel and frightful destruction ot 
the vanquished'. Christ declared that he came', not to destroy 
men's lives', but to save them'; — that he who exalteth himself, 
shall be abased\ He was no respecter of persons", and consid- 
ered love and peace' . . as the grand sum of all the command- 
ments'. He proposed' . . the doctrines of his heavenly Father 
for the 'acceptance of mankind', but did not enforce it by the 
sword' . He directed his disciples only to shake off the dust of 
their feet in departing out of that house or that city in which 
they had been uncourteously received', or in which their words 
h?£ not been attended to'. 

The superiority of the Christian principles over the Jewish 
laio', is well known'. St. Paul' .. said to the Hebrews', that 
f Christ' . . is more worthy than Moses" ;" and', "By so much 
is Christ made a surety of a better Testament':" and', again' 
"If the first Covenant'. . had been faultless', then would no 
place have been found for the second"." True Christianity' . . 
improves the moral and religious character' . . of a Jew\ and is 
capable of converting' . a philosopher*. 



Chap. V. WISDOM AND MAJESTY OF GOD. 345 

Since the Christian rules have been established', the follow- 
ers of Christianity . . have often fallen back into many of the 
pitiful doctrines of the heathen. Many important points . . 
have been neglected, and trifles', attended to\ But', notwith- 
standing all these abuses', it is certain that the precepts of moral 
and religious conduct', have been greatly improved' . . by Chris- 
tianity'. Many selfish and absurd notions' . . have been rectified?; 
and', as human nature becomes better understood', the pure and 
exalted precepts of our Christian religion', will continue more 
and more to shed their benign influence over the human race'. 
True Christianity' . . will gain ground' . . by every step which 
is made in the knowledge of man\ 
_ . 

SECTION YIIL 

The Wisdom and Majesty of God, attested by the Works of 
Creation. — Dr. Chalmers. 

It is truly a Christian exercise' . . to extract a sentiment of piety from 
the works and the appearances of naturc v . It has the authority of the 
Sacred Writers upon its side', and even our Saviour himself'. . gives 
it the weight and the solemnity of his example'. " Behold the lilies cf 
the field" : they toil not', neither do they spin" ; yet your heavenly Fa- 
ther careth for them'." He expatiates on the beauty of a single flower\ 
and draws from it the delightful argument of confidence in God'. He 
gives us to see', that taste may be combined with piety', and that the 
same heart may be occupied with all that is serious in the contempla- 
tions of religion", and', at the same time', be alive to the charms and 
the loveliness of nature\ 

The Psalmist takes a still loftier flight'. He leaves the world', and 
lifts his imagination to that mighty expanse which spreads above it and 
around it\ He wings his way through space', and wanders in thought 
over its immeasurable regions'. Instead of a dark and unpeopled soli- 
tude', he sees it crowded with splendour', and filled with the energy of 
the Divine Presence'. Creation rises in its immensity before him', and 
the world', with all it inherits', shrinks into littleness at a contempla- 
tion so vast and so overpowering'. He wonders that he is not over- 
looked amid the grandeur and the variety which are on every side of 
him' ; and', passing upward from the majesty of nature' . . to the majesty 
of nature's Architect', he exclaims', " What is man' . . that thou art mind- 
ful of him', or the son of man' . .that thou shouldst deign to visit him"?' f 

It is not for us to say', whether inspiration revealed to the Psalmist 
the wonders of the modern astronomy'. But even admitting the mind 
to be a perfect stranger to the science of these enlightened times', the 
heavens present to it a great and an elevating spectacle', an immense 
concave', reposing upon the circular boundary of the world', and the 
innumerable lights which are suspended from on high', moving with 
solemn regularity along its surface'. 

It seems to have been at night', when the moon and the stars were 
visible', and not when the sun had risen in his strength', and thrown a 
splendour around him', which bore down and eclipsed ail the minor 
glories of the firmament', that the pietv of the Psalmist was awakened 



346 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

by this contemplation. And there is much in the scenery of a nocturnal 
sky' . . to lift the soul to pious contemplation. That moon 7 , and those 
stars', what are they''? They are detached from the world', and they 
lift you above it\ You feel withdrawn from the earth', and rise in 
lofty abstraction above this little theatre of human passions and human 
anxieties'. The mind abandons itself to revery', and is transferred', in 
the ecstasy of its thoughts', to distant and unexplored regions'. It sees 
nature in the simplicity of its great elements' ; and it sees the God of 
nature invested with the high attributes of wisdom and majesty'. 

SECTION IX. 

Arguments showing the probability that the Planetary an I 
Astral Worlds are Inhabited. — ib. 

The heavenly bodies appear small to an inhabitant of this earth', onlj 
on account of the immensity of their distance from it'. When we talk 
of hundreds of millions of miles', it is not to be listened to as incredible' ; 
for we should remember' . . that we are talking of those bodies which 
are scattered over the immensity of space', and that space knows no 
limit'. The conception is great and difficult', but the truth' . . is unques- 
tionable'. By a process of measurement', which it is unnecessary at 
present to explain', we have ascertained', first', the distance y , and then', 
the magnitude', of some of those bodies which roll in the firmament'- 
that the sun s , which presents itself to the eye under so diminutive a 
form', is really a globe s , exceeding', by many thousands of times', the 
dimensions of the earth which we inhabit' ; that the moon itself has the 
magnitude of a icorW ; and that even a few of those stars'", which ap- 
pear like so many lucid points to the unassisted eye of the observer', 
expand into large circles upon the application of the telescope", and are', 
some of them', much larger than the ball which we tread upon', and to 
which we proudly apply the demonstration of the universe'. 

Now', what is the fair and obvious presumption'? The world in 
which we live', is a round ball of a determined magnitude', and occu- 
pies its own place in the firmament'. But when we explore the unlim- 
ited tracts of that space which is everywhere around us', we meet with 
other balls of equal', or superiour', magnitude', and from which our 
earth would either be invisible', or appear as small as any of those 
twinkling stars which are seen on the canopy of heaven'. Why', then', 
suppose' . that this little spot' — little', at least', in the immensity which 
surrounds it' — should be the exclusive abode of life and of intelligence"? 
What reason have we to think' . . that those mightier globes which roll 
in other parts of creation', and which we have discovered to be worlds 
in magnitude', are not also worlds in use and in dignittf? Why should 
we think' . . that the great Architect of nature', supreme in wisdom', as 
ne is in power', would call these stately mansions into existence', and 
leave them unoccupied' 1 

When we cast our eye over the broad sea', and look at the country 
on the other side', we see nothing but the blue land' . . stretching ob- 
scurely over the distant horizon'. We are too far away to perceive the 
richness of its scenery', or to hear the sound of its population'. Why 
not extend this principle to the still more distant parts of the universe'? 
What though', from this remote point of observation', we can see nothing 
but the naked roundness of yon planetary orbs'? Are we', therefore', to 
say', that they are so many vast and unpeopled solitudes'? that desola- 



Chap. V. INHABITANTS OF THE STARRY REGIONS. 347 

tion reigns in every part of the universe but ours'? that he whole 
energy of the divine attributes', is expended on one insignificant 
comer' . . of these mighty works' 1 and that', to this earth alone belongs 
the bloom of vegetation', or the blessedness of life', or the dignity of 
rational and immortal existence'? 

But this is not alP. We have something more than the mere magni- 
tude of the planets to allege in favour of the idea that they a re inhabited'. 
We know that this earth turns round upon itselp; and we observe' . . 
that all those celestial bodies which are accessible to such an oDserva- 
tion', have the same movement. We know that the earth performs a 
yearly revolution round the sun'' ; and we can detect', in all the planets 
which compose our system', a revolution of the same kind', and under 
similar circumstances\ They have the same succession of day and 
night". They have the same agreeable vicissitude of the seasons\ To 
them' . . light and darkness succeed each other" ; and the gayety of 
summer is followed by the dreariness of winter". To each of them' . . 
the heavens present as varied and magnificent a spectacle"; and this 
earth', the encompassing of which', would require the labour of years 
from one of its puny inhabitants', is but one of the smaller lights which 
sparkle in their firmament". 

To them', as well as to us', has God divided the light from the dark- 
ness"; and he has called the light' . . day", and the darkness' . . he has 
called night". He has said', " Let there be lights in the firmament of 
their heaven', to divide the day from the night" : and let them be for 
signs', and for seasons", and for days', and for years": and let them be 
for lights in the firmament of heaven', to give light upon their earth"; 
and it was so"." And God has also made to them' . . great lights". To 
all of them' . . he has given the sun to rule the day'; and', to many of 
them' . . has he given moons to rule the night". To them he has made 
the stars also". And God has set them in the firmament of heaven', to 
give light unto their earth", and to rule over the day', and over the 
night", and to divide the light from the darkness" ; and God has seen 
that it was good". 

In all these greater arrangements of divine wisdom', we can see that 
God has done the same things for the accommodation of the planets', 
that he has done for the earth which we inhabit". And shall we say', 
that the resemblance stops here', because we are not in a situation* to 
observe it' % Shall we say', that this scene of magnificence' . . has been 
called into being', merely for the amusement of a few astronomers'? 
Shall we measure the counsels of heaven by the narrow importance or 
the human faculties'? or shall we conceive', that silence and solitude 
reign throughout the mighty empire of nature''? that the greater part 
of creation is an empty parade"? and that not a worshipper of the 
Divinity is to be found through the wide extent of yon vast and im- 
measurable regions'? 

It lends a delightful confirmation to the argument', when', from the 
growing perfection of our instruments', we can discover a new point of 
resemblance between our earth and the other bodies of the planetary 
system". It is now ascertained', not merely that all of them have their 
day and night', and their vicissitudes of seasons', and that some of them 
have their moons to rule their night', and alleviate the darkness of it'; 
but we can see of one 7 , that its surface rises into inequalities", that it 
swells into mountains and stretches into valleys" ; of another', that it is 
surrounded by an atmosphere which may support the respiralion of 
animals": of a third', that clouds are formed and suspended over it', 



348 SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

which may minister to it all the bloom and luxuriance of vegetation . 
and of a fourth', that 7 , as its winter advances', a white colour spreads 
over its northern regions', and that', on the approach of summer', this 
whiteness is dissipated v — giving room to suppose', that the element of 
water abounds in it v , that it rises by evaporation into its atmosphere", 
that it freezes upon the application of cold", that it is precipitated in the 
form of snow', which covers the ground with its fleecy mantle', and 
melts away from the heat of a more vertical sun"; and that other 
worlds bear a resemblance to our own', in the same yearly round of 
beneficent and interesting changes". 



SECTION X. 

The same subject continued. — ib. 

Shall we say', then', of these vast luminaries', that they were created 
in vain' '? Were they called into existence for no other purpose than 
to throw a tide of useless splendour over the solitudes of immensity' 1 
Our sun is only one of these luminaries v , and we know that he ha^ 
worlds in his train\ Why should we strip the rest of this princely at- 
tendance v 1 Why may not each of them be the centre of his own 
system^, and give light to his own worlds'? It is true', that we have seen 
them not'; but', could the eye of man take its flight into those distant 
regions', it would lose sight of our little world before it had 'reached the 
outer limits of our system" ; the greater planets would disappear in 
their turn" : — before it had described a small portion of that abyss which 
separates us from the fixed stars', the sun would decline into a little 
spot', and all its splendid retinue of worlds', would be lost in the obscu- 
rity of distance"; — he would', at last', shrink into a small', indivisible 
atom?, and all that could be seen of this magnificent system', would be 
reduced to the glimmering of a little star". 

Why resist', any longer', the grand and interesting conclusion'' ? Each 
of these stars may be the token of a system as vast and as splendid as 
the one which we inhabit. Worlds roll in these distant regions' ; and 
these worlds must be the mansions of life and intelligence". In yon 
gilded canopy of heaven', we see the broad aspect of the universe", 
where each shining point presents us with a sun', and each sun', with 
a system of worlds"; — where the Divinity reigns in all the grandeur of 
his attributes'; — where he peoples immensity with his wonders', and', 
in the greatness of his strength', travels through the dominions of one 
vast and unlimited monarchy". 

The contemplation has no limits". If we ask for the number of suns 
and of systems', the unassisted eye of man can take in a ilwusand^, and 
the best telescope', eighty millions^. But fancy can take its flight far be- 
yond the ken of eye or of telescope". Shall we have the boldness to 
say', that there is nothing there'? — that the wonders of the Almighty 
are at an end'? — that the creative energy of God has sunk into repose^, 
because the imagination is enfeebled by the magnitude of its efforts' 1 

To an eye that could spread itself over the whole system of worlds', 
the mansion which accommodates our species', might be so very small 
as to lie wrapped up in microscopical concealment". What is seen', 
may be nothing to what is unseen^ ; for what is seen', is limited by the 
*-ange of our instruments^. What is unseen', has no limit' ; and', though 
xll which the eye of man can take in', or which his fancy can grasp', 



Chap. V. INHABITANTS OF THE STARRY REGIONS. 349 

were swept away', there might still remain a more ample field ovri 
which the Divinity may expatiate', and which he may have peopled 
with innumerable worlds\ 

It' the whole visible creation were to disappear', it would leave a 
solitude behind it*; but to the infinite Mind', that can take in the whole 
system ol nature 7 , this solitude might be nothing" — a small', unoccupied 
point in that immensity which surrounds it', and which he may have 
rilled with the wondeis of his omnipotence*. Though this earth were to 
be burnt up", though the trumpet of its dissolution were sounded*, though 
yon sky were to pass away as a scroll', and every visible glory which 
the finger of the Divinity has inscribed upon it', were to be put out for 
evei' — an event so awful to us, and to every world in our vicinity', by 
which so many sftfrs would be extinguished', and so many varied scenes 
of life and of population would rush into forgetfulness' — what is it in 
the high scale of the Almighty's workmanship*? a mere shred", which', 
though scattered into nothing', would leave the universe of God one 
entire scene of greatness and of majesty*. 

Though this earth and these heavens were to disappear', there are 
other worlds which roll afar* ; the light of other suns', shines upon them'; 
and the sky which mantles them', is garnished with other stars*. Is it 
presumption to say', that the moral world extends to these distant and 
unknown regions'? that they are occupied with people' ? that the chari- 
ties of home and of neighbourhood flourish there' 1 that the praises of 
God are there lifted up', and his goodness rejoiced in'? that piety has its 
temples and its offerings' ? and that the richness of the divine attribute', 
is there felt and admired by intelligent worshippers' 1 

And what is this world in the immensity which teems with thevv ? 
and what are they who occupy it* 1 The universe at large', would 
suffer as little in its splendour and variety by the destruction of cur 
planet', as the verdure and sublime magnitude of a forest', would suffer 
by the fall of a single leaf"'. The leaf . . quivers on the branch 
which supports it*. It lies at the mercy of the slightest accident*. A 
breath of wind' . . tears it from its stem', and it lights on the stream of 
water which passes underneath', In a moment of time', the life which 
we know by the microscope', it teems with', is extinguished* ; and', an 
occurrence so insignificant in the eye of man and on the scale of his 
observation', carries in it', to the myriads which people this little leaf, 
an event as terrible and as decisive as the destruction of a world*. 

Now', on the grand scale of the universe', u-e", the occupiers of this 
little ball', which performs its little round among the suns and the sys- 
tems that astronomy has unfolded', — we may feel the same littleness', 
and the same insecurity*. We differ from the leaf, only in this cir- 
cumstance*, that it would require the" operation of' greater elements to 
destroy us". But these elements exist"'. The fire which rages within , 
may lift its devouring energy to the surface of our planet', and trans- 
form it into one wide and wasting volcano'". The sudden formation of 
elastick matter in the bowels of the earth' — and it lies within the agency 
of known substances to accomplish this' — may explode it into frag- 
ments". The exhalation of noxious air from below', may impart a 
virulence to the air that is around us* ; it may affect the delicate propor- 
tion of its ingredients'; and the whole of animated nature may 
wither and die under the malignity of a tainted atmosphere*. A 
blazing comet may cross this fated planet in its orbit', and realize to il 
all the terrours which superstition has conceived of it*. 

These are changes which may happen in a single instant ofltnu 
30 



350 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

and against which nothing known in the present system of things', 
provides us w; ,',h any security". They might not annihilate the earth', 
but they would unpeople it'; "and we', who tread its surface with such 
firm and assured footsteps', are at the mercy of devouring elements, 
which', if let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty', would spread 
solitude", and silence', and death, over the dominions of the world". 

Now', it is this littleness", and this insecurity', which make the protec- 
tion of the Almighty so dear to us", and which bring', with such em- 
phasis', to every pious bosom', the holy lessons of humility and graii- 
tude\ The God who sitteth above', and who presides in high authority 
over all worlds', is mindful of man" ; and', though at this moment his 
energy is felt in the remotest provinces of creation', we may feel the 
same security in his providence', as if we were the objects of h s un- 
divided care\ 

It is not for us to bring our minds up to this mysterious agncy J . 
But', such is the incomprehensible facfr, that the same Being', whose eye 
is abroad over the whole universe', gives vegetation to every blade ot 
grass", and motion to every particle of blood which circulates through 
the veins of the minutest animaP ; that', though his mind takes into its 
comprehensive grasp', immensity and all its wonders', I am as much 
known to him', as if I were the single object of his attention" ; that he 
marks all my thoughts' ; that he gives birth to every feeling and every 
movement within me"; and that', with an exercise of power which I 
can neither describe nor comprehend', the same God who sits in the 
highest heaven', and reigns over the glories of the firmament', is at my 
right hand,' to give every breath which I draw', and every comfort 
which I enjoy". 



SECTION XL 

Pleasures of Hope. — Campbell. 

With thee', sweet Hope/, resides the heavenly light' 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight": 
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way', 
That calls each slumbering passion into play". 
Waked by thy touch', 1 see the sister band', 
On tiptoe watching', start at thy command', 
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer', 
To pleasure's path', or glory's bright career", 

Primeval Hope"! the Aonian muses say', 
When man and nature mourned their first decay', 
When every form of death", and every wo', 
Shot from malignant stars to earth below'; 
When murder bared her arm', and rampant war' 
Yoked the red dragons of her Iron car'; 
When peace and mercy', banished from the plain', 
Sprung on the viewless winds to heaven again'; 
All', all forsook the friendless', guilty mind', 
But hope', the charmer', lingered still behind". 
Thus', while Elijah's burning wheels prepare' 
From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air', 
The prophet's mantle', ere his flight began', 
Dropped on the world' — a sacred gift to man". 



Cliap. V. PLEASURES OF HOPE. 35*1 

Auspicious Hcpe v ! in thy sweet garden grow' 
Wreaths for each toil', a charm lor every wo v : 
Won by their sweets', in nature's languid hour' 
The wayworn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower N ; 
There', as the wild bee murmurs on the wing', 
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bringM 
What viewless forms th' JEolian organs play', 
And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away\ 

Angel of life v ! thy glittering wings explore' 
Earth's loneliest bounds', and ocean's wildest shore\ 
Lo'! to the wintry winds the pilot yields' 
His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields" ; 
Now on Atlantick waves he rides afar', 
Where Andes', giant of the western star', 
With meteor-standard to the winds unfurled', 
Looks', from his throne of clouds', o'er half the world\ 

Now far he sweeps', where scarce a summer smiles' 
On Behring's rocks', or Greenland's naked Isles v 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow' 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow v : 
And waft', across the wave's tumultuous roar', 
The wolfs long howl from Onalaska's shore". 

Poor child of danger" 1 , nursling of the storm", 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form" ! 
Rocks", waves', and winds', the shattered bark delay'; 
Thy heart is sad", thy home is far away". 

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep', 
And sing'. . to charm the spirit of the deep". 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole', 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul". 
His native hills", that rise in happier climes', 
The grot v , that heard his song of other times', 
His cottage home", his bark of slender sail", 
His glassy lake', and broomwood-blossomed vale', 
Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind', 
Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind" ; 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face', 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace" ; 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking fear', 
And clasps', with many a sigh', his children dear" : 
While', long neglected', but at length caressed', 
His faithful dog saliites the smiling guest", 
Points to the master's eyes' (where'er they roam') 
His wistful face', and whines a welcome home". 

Friend of the brave" ! in peril's darkest hour', 
[ntrepid virtue looks to thee for power" ; 
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields'. 
On stormy floods and carnage-covered fields', 
When front to front the bannered hosts combine', 
Halt ere they close', and form the dreadful line', 
When all is still on death's devoted soil', 
The march-worn soldier mingles for the toll" : 



352 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY, 



As rings his glittering tube', be lifts on high' 
The dauntless brow', and spirit-speaking eye v ; 
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come', 
And hears thy stormy musick in the drum\ 



SECTION XII. 
Address to Greece. — Byron. 

He'. . who hath bent him o'er the dead', 
Ere the first day of death' . . is fled', 
The first dark day of nothingness\ 
The last' . . of danger and distress', 
(Before decay's effacing fingers' 
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers',) 
And marked the mild', angel ick dir K , 
The rapture of repose' . . that's there', 
The fixed', yet tender', traits that streak' 
The languor of the placid cheek', 
And' — but for that sad', shrouded eye'- 

That fires not v , wins not v , weeps not' . . now', 

And but for that chill', changeless brow', 
Where cold obstruction's apathy' 
Appals the gazing mourner's heart', 
As if to him' . . it could impart' 
The doom he dreads', yet dwells upon';— 
Yes\ but for these", and these alone', 
Some raomrf, ay', one treacherous hour K 
He still might doubt the tyrant's power N ; 
So fair\ so calm v , so softly sealed', 
The first', last look by death repealed': 
Such is the aspect of this shore" ; 
'Tis Greeck', but living Greece'. . . no moreM 
So coldly sweet\ so deadly fair', 
We start"", ... for soul 7 . . is wanting there\ 
Hers' . . is the loveliness in death', 
That parts not quite with parting breath N ; 
But beauty' . . with that fearful bloom', 
- That hue' . . which haunts it to the tomb s , 
Expression's last receding ray v , 
A gilded halo'., hovering round decay\ 
The farewell beam of feeling v . . past away v ! 
Spark of that flame', perchance' . . of heavenly birth', 
Which gleams', but warms no more its cherished earth* 

Clime of the unforgotten brave"! 
Whose land' . . from plain to mountain-cavC, 
Was freedom's home', or glory's grave v — 
Shrine of the mighty"" ! can it be', 
That this' . . is all remains of thee'? 
Approach\ thou craven', crouching slave v : 

Say v , is not this Thermopylce' ? 
These waters blue' . . that round you lave' — 

Ohl servile offspring of the free' — 
Pronounce what sea\ what shore' . . istM? : 
The gulf, the rode of Salamis' ! 



Chap. V. THE PASSIONS. ?53 

These scenes' — their story not unknowns- 
Arise', and make again your own'; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires' 
The embers of their former fires* ; 
And he who', in the strife expires', 
Will add to theirs a name of fear' 
That tyranny shall quake to hear*, 
And leave his sons a hope', a fame' 
They', too', will rather die' . . than shame" : 
For' . .friledorti's battle' . . once begun', 
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son', 
Though baffled oft', is ever won*. 

Bear witness*, Greece', thy living page', 
Attest it', many a deathless age* : 
While kings', in dusty darkness' . . hid', 
Have left a nameless pyramid', 
Thy heroes', though the general doom' 
Hath swept the column from their tomb N , 
A mightier monument command*, 
The mountains' . . of their native land*. 
There points thy muse to stranger's eye 7 
The graves of those that cannot die*. 

'Twere long to tell*, and sad to trace' 
Each step from splendour to disgrace*; 
Enough* — no foreign foe could quell' 
Thy soul 7 , till from itself . . it fell* : 
Yes*, self-abasement led the way' 
To villain-bonds and despot -sway*. 



SECTION XIII. 

The Passions. — Collins. 

When Musick', heavenly maid', was young*-, 
While yet in early Greece she suns', 
The Passions oft', to hear her shell', 
Thronged around her magick cell' 
Exulting*, trembling*, raging', fainting*, 
Possessed beyond the muse's painting* ; 
By turns they felt the glowing mind' 
Disturbed*, delighted*, raised', refined*; 
Till once', 'tis said', when all were fired', 
Filled with fury*, rapt*, inspired', 
From the supporting myrtles round', 
They snatched her instruments of sound*; 
And', as they oft had heard apart' 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art', 
Each' (for madness ruled the hour*) 
Would prove his own expressive power*. 

First', Fear*, his hand', its skill to try', 
Amid the chords bewildered laid', 

A.nd back recoiled*, he knew not why', 
E'en at the sound himself had made*. 
30* 



354 SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

Next', Anger rushecT ; his eyes on fire , 

In lightnings owned his secret stings' ; 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre', 

And swept', with hurried hand', the strings\ 
With woful measures wan Despair', 

Low', sullen sounds his grief beguiled v ; 
A solemn", strange', and mingled air" ; 

'Twas sad by fits', by starts 'twas wild". 
But thou", O Hope', with eyes so fair', 

What was thy delighted measure" 1 

Still it whispered promised pleasure', 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail v ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong"; 

And', from the rocks", the woods", the vale', 
She called on echo still', through all the song" ; 

And', where her sweetest theme she chose', 

A soft', responsive voice was heard at every close v ; 
And Hope enchanted smiled', and waved her golden hair". 

And longer had she sung'; — but', with a frown', 
Revenge impatient rose": 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down', 

And', with a withering look', 
The war-denouncing trumpet took', 
And blew a blast so loud and dread', 
Were ne'er prophetick sounds so full of wo v : 

And ever and anon, he beat' 

The doubling drum\ with furious heat"; 
And though', sometimes', each dreary pause between'. 

Dejected Pity', at his side', 

Her soul-subduing voice applied', 

Yet still he kept his wild', unaltered mien', 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head ; 
Thy numbers', Jealousy', to naught were fixed", 

Sad proof of thy distressful state" : 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed" ; 

And now it courted Love", now', raving', called on Hate\ 

With eyes upraised', as one inspired', 

Pale Melancholy sat retired" ; 

And from her wild', sequestered seat', 

In notes by distance made more sweet', 
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul"; 

And', dashing soft from rocks around', 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound" ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole" ; 

Or', o'er some haunted stream', with fond delay', 
Round a holy calm diffusing", 
Love of peace', and lonely musing', 

In hollow murmurs died away". 

But', O' ! how altered was its sprightlier tone', 
When Cheerfulness", a nymph of healthiest hue', 

Her bow across her shoulder flung", 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew', 

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung", 
The hunter's eali\ to faun and dryad known''. 



Chat), f Alexander's feast. 355 

The oak-crowned sisters", and their chaste-eyed queen/, 

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen", 

Peeping from forth their alleys green v : 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear N ; 
And Sport leaped up", and seized his beechen spear\ 
Lasr came Joy's ecstatick trial' : 

He', with viny crown advancing", 

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed' : 
But soon he saw the brisk', awakening viol', 

Whose sweet", entrancing voice he loved the best' ; 
They would have thought", who heard the strain", 

They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids v , 

Amidst the festal", sounding shades', 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing', 
While", as his flying fingers kissed the strings-', 
Love framed with Mirth', a gay", fantastick round v : 

Loose were her tresses seen", her zone unbound' ; 
And he", amidst his frolick play", 

As if he would the charming air repay'> 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wingsV 



SECTION XIV 

Alexander 1 s Feast ; or, The Power of Mustek 

AN ODE FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY. DRYDEN 

'Twas" . . at the royal feast", for Persia" . . won' 
By Philip's warlike son' : — 
'Uoft' . . in awful state", 
The godlike hero sat" 
On his imperial throne\ 

His valiant peers" . . were placed around", 
Their brows" . . with roses and with myrtles bound' : 

So should desert in arms be crowned'. 
The lovely Thais" . . by his side" 
Sat", like a blooming", eastern bride", 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride' v 

Happy", happy", happy" . . pair' ! 

None but the brave", 

None . . but the brave', 
None but' . . the brave", deserve' . . the fair\ 
Timo — theus' . . placed on high', 

Amid the tuneful choir', 

With flying fingers touched the lyre N : 
The trembling notes' . . ascend the sky', 

And heavenly joys inspire\ 
The song began from. Jove', 
Who left his blissful seats above'; 
(Such is the power of mighty love' !) 
A dragon's fiery form' . . belied the god' : 
Sublime' . . on radiant spheres he rode', 

When he to fair Olympia' . . pressed', 
And stamped an image of himself '. a sovereign of the world v 

The list'ning crowd' . . admire the lofty sound' ; 
A present deity', they shout around' ; 



35C SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 

A present deity*, the vaulted roofs' . . rebormd\ 
With ravished ears' . . the monarch hears* ; 
Assumes the god* ; affects to nod' ; 
And seems to shake the spheres*. 

The praise of Bacchus*, then', the sweet musician sung*} 
Of Bacchus', ever fair' . . and ever young*. 
The jolly god in triumph, comes 7 ! 
Sound the trumpet v ; beat the drums v ; 
Flushed with a purple grace', 
He shows his honest face* ; 
Now give the hautboys breath v — he comes v ! he comes* ! 
Bacchus', ever fair and ever young', 
Drinking joys' . . did first ordain*: 
Bacchus' blessings' . . are a treasure*; 
Drinking' . . is the soldier's pleasure*: 
Rich' . . the treasure' ; 
Sweet' . . the pleasure* : 
Sweet' . . is pleasure' . . after pain*. 

Soothed with the sound', the king grew vain*; 
Fought all his battles o'er again*; 
And thrice he routed all his foes', and thrice he slew the slain*' 

The master saw the madness rise* ; 
His glowing cheeks*, his ardent eyes*; 
And', while he heaven and earth defied', 
Changed his hand', and checked his pride*. 
He chose a mournful muse', 
Soft pity to infuse* : 
He sung Darius*, great and good', 
By too severe a fate', 
Fallen', fallen", fallen', fallen', 
Fallen' . . from his high estate', 
And welt'ring in his blood* : 
Deserted at his utmost need' 
By those his former bounty fed', 
On the bare earth' . . exposed he lies', 
With not a friend' . . to close his eyes*. ' 

With downcast look' . . the joyless victor s&f, 
J\ evolving in his altered soul', 

The various turns of fate below*; 
And now and then', a sigh he stole', 

And 'ears' . . began to flow*. 
The mighty master' . . smiled to see' 
That love was in the next degree* ; 
5 T was but a kindred sound to move', 
For pity' . . melts the mind to love*. 

Softly sweet', in Lydian measures', 

Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures* ; 

War', he sung', is toil and trouble* ; 

Honour', but an empty bubble* ! 
Never ending', still beginning* ; 

Fighting still', and still destroying*. 
If the world be worth thy winning', 

Think', O'! think it worth enjoying' • 



Chap. V. Alexander's feast. 357 

Lovely Thais' . . sits beside lhee v ; 
Take the good' . . the gods provide thee" : 
The many' . . rend the skies with loud applause"; 
So', love' . . was crowned' ; but musick' . . won the cause'' 
The prince 7 , unable to conceal his pain', 
Gazed on the fair' 
Who caused his care"; 
And sighed', and looked" ; sighed', and looked" ; 
Sighed', and looked' ; and sighed again": 
At length', with love and wine at once oppressed', 
The vanquished victor' .... sunk upon her breast v . 
Now strike the golden lyre again" ; 
A louder yet', and yet a louder strain" : 
Break his bands of sleep asunder", 
And rouse him', like a rattling peal of thunder . 
Hark" ! hark" ! the horrid sound' 
Has raised up his head', 
As awaked frcm. the dead" ; 
And', amazed', he stares around". 

Revenge" ! revenge" ! Timotheus cries" ; 

See the furies arise" ; 

See the snakes that they rear'. 
How they hiss in their hair', 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes" ! 
Behold a ghastly band", 
Each a torch in his hand" ! 
These are Grecian ghosts' . . that in battle were slain', 
And', unburied', remain' 
Inglorious on the plain". 
Give the vengeance' .. due to the valiant crew". 
Behold' ! how they toss their torches on high" ! 
How they point to the Persian abodes', 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods" ! 
The princes applaud with a furious joy', 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy" 1 * 
Thais' . . led the way', 
To light him to his pre}'"; 
And', like another Helen', fired another Troy\ 
Thus', long ago', 

Ere heaving bellows' . . learned to blow', 
While organs yet were mute', 
Timotheus', with his breathing flute' 
And sounding lyre', 
Could swell the soul to rage', or kindle soft desire". 
At last' . . divine Cecilia came", 
In ven tress of the vocal frame". 
The sweet enthusiasts', from her sacred store' 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds'. 
And added length to solemn sounds', 
With nature's mother wit', and arts unknown before*. 
Let old Timotheus' . . yield the prize", 

Or both divide the crown" : 
He' . . raised a mortal to the skies' ; 
She' . . drew an angel' . . dovm\ 

THE END. 



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